


The Tediousness of Temperance

by DarkSammyProdigy02



Series: A Series of Angels & Cambions [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Demon Sex, Blood and Gore, Bottom Sam, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mpreg, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pregnant Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Big Bang 2019, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Temporary Character Death, Top Gabriel (Supernatural), Top Gabriel/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 55,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSammyProdigy02/pseuds/DarkSammyProdigy02
Summary: "A boy with demon blood and an angel with a mind of his own.”This is the story of how Sam Winchester and Gabriel form an unlikely alliance, to kill Lilith and avert the apocalypse. The archangel makes it so the youngest Winchester must decide between his humanity or the fate of the world. With Heaven and Hell alike determined to stop them, the two form… something that resembles a relationship and both get more than they bargained for.





	1. Part 1: Gabriel is a Dick

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, this is my first Big Bang, and my first try at the Sabriel ship. Some of the dialogue is inspired by Tumblr posts, just being honest. Oh and any warnings are posted in the tags, so make sure you look there. Not much else to say... What can I say? I'm not a chatty person.  
> EXCEPT.....  
> Thank you to my lovely artist LeafZelindor!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Art** **Link** :  https://leafzelindor.tumblr.com/post/182110310529/art-masterpost-for-the-tediousness-of-temperance

 

**One Month After Sam Winchester Jumped the Cage**

Lightning came, a brilliant shock of white in the graphite sky, forking silently to the unsuspecting ground - the thunderous boom always calling its warning too late. The Elysian Fields Hotel abandoned and now only used as a squatting place for the poor and destitute, yet a single silhouette makes their way through the pouring rain. She brandishes an umbrella, her heels clicking against the cracked, uneven pavement as she sashays towards the building.

The door creaks open, moving open a centimeter at a time. It could move faster, but the wood of the door has grown moldy and soft with water and neglect, and if Kali pushed it harder, she’d probably push right through the door. Once inside, a thick coating of dust and mold coats everything. She steps tentatively with her ebony heels, as there are already several dark holes where floorboards have snapped, weak from mold and pressured downwards by the weight of discarded furniture.

Cobwebs brush the Hindu goddess’s face as she steps deeper into the house. A thick carpet of dust clung to every object, the rays of light shining through the shattered glass windows catching on the particles suspended in the stagnant air. She moves deliberately, dust billowing into clouds as she passes. She continued to move through the house, kicking up more dust until it was difficult to see through the billions of particles that now swirled in the air.

The dust particles danced and swirled in each ray of light that shone through, onto shards of crystal from a smashed chandelier that once hung from the ceiling; the refracted light spattering the shattered and worn black and white tile floor with an iridescent rainbow of color.

Despite the lustrous glow the light beams played upon this room, the depleted nature of this building could not be concealed. Kali wrinkled her nose at the distasteful smell of damp hung in the air like a disease that had eradicated the fruitful perfume of the outside air long ago.

The meatsuit on the floor was lifeless. Lifeless. His blondish-brown hair was scattered in multiple places, stained with dried blood; crimson. His champagne colored eyes were wide open, but his dark irises held a sudden sadness. His clothes, a tan jacket and a red flannel, were bloody. His body was sprawled out with extended arms, on the cold linoleum floor; arching winged scorched into the material underneath him. And the repugnant odor. The Hindu goddess purses her lips, her eyes narrowing at the stench the archangel’s body elicited.

Kali slowly ran her hand down the side of her leg, tracing up a concealed dagger. She ran the sharp edge down the length of her palm, and intoned in Latin,” Tui gratia lovis gratia sit cure.” Crimson seeped from the wound, a steady flow of claret running down the archangel’s still face. Her thundering voice raised echoes in the hall. It also raised a quartet of resting pigeons from fallen beams near the ceiling, who burst into the air with a clap and a whirring from their wings and startled coos.

Another blast of lightning came like a rip in the inky night, as if behind the dark canvass was a brilliant light just waiting to flood through any crack no matter how small. It is then that the archangel comes roaring to life, his lungs expanding and contracting greedily for air. He sits up abruptly clawing away at the tenseness that rigor-mortis had set in his skin, settling all the way to his bones. Kali slowly crouches down, refusing to meet her former-lover’s gaze as she digs out a moist makeup wipe from her purse, in a futile effort to clean him up.

“N-no," Gabriel says, or he tries, at least, but his jaw is rattling hard enough to grind his teeth. Kali leans forward with the damp, cold makeup wipe looming over his matted brow.

“You're filthy,” She says, her voice gentler than it's been in the countless years they’d known each other.

“No,” He manages to use what little strength he has to shove the hand away. He's still shaking, so much that it hurts, but he manages to choke out,” Fuck, God, how long…?”

“A year more or less,” Came Kali’s cold reply, “Much has happened since your brother set ruin to this place, buddhoo. The world is in chaos, all lesser known gods and deities are struggling for new positions of power with a clear majority of religious figures being laid siege by your older brother’s temper tantrum. I’ve already grown wary of their foolishness, Gabriel.”

Gabriel sits up against the wall, grimacing as he feels something scuttle past his hand, “I take this makes us even? Or are you still soft on me?”

The Hindu goddess looks into the archangel’s eyes, her painted lips a fine line as she hisses in her language, “I never held a place for you in my heart, Gabriel, you were only ever another thing to lay me in bed. Nothing more, nothing less. I have only done, what I have done, for a single reason: You did save my life,” She crouches down, her hand grasping the archangel’s crotch with an iron grip, “So, yes, we are now even. If I see your face again, now, or ever… I will take what little semblance of manhood you have.” With that she is gone.

“Thanks,” He utters at the wind. He closes his eyes, placing two fingers at his temple as he tunes into angel radio.

 

 

 

 

 

Michael has fallen as Lucifer fell

 

 

 

 

 

God does not intervene’

 

 

 

 

 

Raphael proclaims the end is still nigh

 

 

 

 

 

The youngest Winchester brings down the mightiest weapons of Heaven

 

 

 

 

 

No rescue is to be implemented

 

 

 

 

 

The abomination waltzes about without a soul

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel attempts to bring--

 

 

 

 

 

It was like a thousand nonsensical newspaper headlines blaring across sudden bursts of static. Heaven was in deep, deep shit without an official leader; a civil war between the seraph Castiel and the archangel Raphael. Gabriel had long since grown wary of Heaven’s politics, so he skimmed past those tidbits—It was the name Sam Winchester that stopped him cold. The human that had saved the world, but at what price?

“Sam,” Gabriel laments, “You stupid, self-sacrificing son of a….” He trailed off in a stream of curses.

The archangel had known that leaving the fate of the world in the Winchesters’ hands would no doubt leave one or both paying the price, but he had made his peace with this. Or at least he thought he had. After all, Sam Winchester broke the world, it was only right that he should be the one to fix it. He knew he'd done something pretty awful when he had to work so hard to justify it; might as well be less than human, less than a worm, for all that he is able to do for Sam. The more demanding the reparations his subconscious required the worse he knew it was.

When he allows the guilt to come it takes Gabriel down the old familiar path. He wants to refuse to walk it, pretend that he is the deity he claims himself to be; Loki, the god of mischief, cold and callous to the world of humans. And it's true what they say, “Guilt is the root of hesitation.” And he couldn't bare that. So, he kept his eyes on the horizon and his mind tuned to creating a positive future; because really, isn't that what everyone needs?

“ _One day, Lucifer pushed me off the edge of Mount Everest. I hit the ground. Another day, he threw me out into the ocean. I sank. Each time he tried to make me fly, I never succeeded,” Gabriel explains, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, “Point being, he was…is a shitty big brother. But for some reason, that I’ve yet to figure out, I still love him.”_

_Sam swallows hard, “Did you?"_

_The archangel tilts his head, turns his gaze towards the human, “Did I what?"_

_“Learn how to fly,” The human responds, avoiding the latter’s gaze._

_The room is silent. Gabriel smiles. "Yeah. But I also learned it’s easier tojust let yourself fall,” He turns to the hotel room’s bathroom door, Dean is still in there the only reason the two are conversing, “Sam, I’m so tired. God, fuck, every time I think I’ve gotten away from my family, away from their melodrama and fighting...”_

_The human still doesn’t look, his eyes remain on the ceiling as he replies, “I know how that feels,” His voice sounds unsure as if he doesn’t know why he’s indulging the archangel, “I’ve been trying to get out for a long time, too. But something always drags me back in—Azazel, Lilith, and now Lucifer.”_

_“We’re never going to get out, are we?”_

_“…Not until we’re dead,” Sam finally meets Gabriel’s eyes, his hazel hues are stone cold and hard, devoid of all emotion, “I think it will be a relief.”_

_The archangel stays silent at that, for a few moments. Then he utters, “Do you think that maybe, just maybe… In another lifetime we could have been something?”_

_“…In another lifetime,” The human lets out a breath and finally says,” …yeah. Yeah, I’d like to think that.”_

_“Yeah?” Gabriel is smiling again._

“ _Yeah.” Sam is smiling, if only ever so slightly._

“ _Another lifetime, then,” The archangel states._

Gabriel doesn’t even know why he recalls the memory. It was mere hours before his death, albeit temporary, at the hands of his big brother. The two had just been sitting in one of the hotel rooms, and had begun to talk, really talk for the first time. But the archangel has never really understood the significance of this little exchange, up until his death.

It was... strange, this change of heart. The realization that he had so badly misjudged Sam Winchester had come over him all at once and brutally quick, crashing down upon his head as waves crash against the cliff face during a storm. It shamed him to even think it, but he had spent the past three minutes utterly at a loss at how his outlook on the human had undergone such momentous change in so short a time.

So, this was grief. It seemed only right that it should touch Gabriel, who was living more than Sam, who was dead.

 

_____

 

Chuck Shurley rests his hand on the rough paintwork that coats the door and pushes. Rough wooden splinters cut into his palm; shards of black paint crumble to the floor. The hinges squeal as though they are a warning, but their plea is silenced by a wall of noise.

Laughter overpowers the jukebox. Conversations swirl in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hides within the collaboration of mephitic odors. A sharp smell of drink wafts towards Chuck, like black plumes bellowing from the windows of a burning house. There’s even a hint of sick tainting the fragrance of the room.

The Lord raised a shaky finger to call the server, and when they did not appear he turned his head slowly to his right to watch her scrubbing the glass of the chiller cabinet, recently re-stuffed with those stupid garish alco-pops all the teens were slurping faster than Coca-Cola. ‘It must be near closing,’ He thought to himself. Even in his alcoholic stupor his heart rate rose a little and his face flushed even pinker.

"Hey,” Chuck called, "'ow 'bout 'rink, 'iskey."

The man turned his head, the professional smile he’d worn all night was quite gone. His eyes were pink, lids sagging, and his face hung loose and long. “You’ve had enough to drink,” He grunts returning to the glass, “How many have you had, pal?

The supreme being chuckled and answered with a tone that was enthusiastic and matter-of-fact, “I drank nine rum distilleries across the Caribbean. I now feel a slight tingle in my fingers,” He tries to cover his belch with his fist, but his puffed rose-kissed cheeks are a dead giveaway, “Grenada: River Antione Rum Distillery, is among one of my personal favorites of man kind’s endeavors to numb themselves to the various stressors in their lives, such as work, school, relationships, money, et cetera.”

The bartender’s eyes lifted to meet the latter’s, and his lips drew into an amused smile. “Well,” He runs to the cloth counter clockwise, “I think I’ll have to cut you off at, what was it? Oh, yes – Nine distilleries across the Caribbean.”

Chuck laughs, his dull blue hues full of mirth, “While the people of the Caribbean certainly mastered the art of distilling, it is actually the Greeks that are responsible for its widespread creation,” He cleared his throat, and muffled another belch into his fist, “While the art of wine making reached the Hellenic peninsula by about 2000 BC, the first alcoholic beverage to obtain widespread popularity in what is now Greece was mead, a fermented beverage made from honey and water.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes as he made his way into the bar. That was just like his father - bring up the fact he's the almighty Creator with infinite knowledge in casual conversation. His father abruptly turned from the bartender and took in the sight of his son, a burst of musical laughter sounding off.

“Dad," Gabriel breathed, his eyes blowing wide, barely even registering he'd spoken out loud until the scruffy-looking man stopped laughing.

“Come, I’m celebrating, and I’ve summoned you here to join me,” The Lord declares motioning to array of bar stools surrounding him, as if he were parting the Red Sea. Gabriel blinked, and all the bar patrons receded from his view at the sweep of his father’s arm. “I recall the beginning, in Heaven, you were the one that introduced the concept of alcohol. You also got too rough when making the moon, dropped a few too many times, and now it’s all cracked and holy. When Michael breathed life into the gaseous planets, he took great care in making sure none of them were damaged – “

“Okay," Gabriel interrupted, setting a palm forward "So, where were you?"

“That's a long story," Chuck sighed, gazing around the empty bar, "But I've been around."

“’'I've been around,’ “The archangel mimicked his father's voice, his annoyance obvious in the few words. He swore to all that was good and holy, when he back talked his father, he hears a roll of thunder in the distance and the supreme being’s gaze darkened.

“No matter. There is no time to get into such trivial matters such as my absence,” Chuck dismisses, his light-hearted attitude returning and the roll of thunder ceasing, “As I said before; we are here to celebrate. My final edition to my book series, _Supernatural_ , has been published and garnered favorable reviews. The ending – The ending is what got people in the end.”

“What the hell are you going on about,” Gabriel sighs, running a tired hand over his face, “Look, no disrespect pops, but I only showed up here because I thought you’d – I thought you’d changed your mind ‘bout some things.”

The Lord isn’t even paying attention, instead he’s gripping a small volume in his hands; a graphic picture of two large man sprawled over a black car with the words ‘Supernatural: Swan Song’ stamped over the top, the ‘g’ dipping against the taller man’s elbow that leaned against the hood. Gabriel blinks. He blinks again. He recognized that the two men were supposed to be the Winchester knuckleheads, but they looked more like male Project-Runway models meet Twilight.

Chuck flips to the last pages of the book and clears his throat,” So, what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test... for Sam and Dean. And I think they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well... isn't that kinda the whole point,” He looks up awaiting his son’s reactions as h reads the last sentences, “No doubt – endings are hard. But then again... nothing ever really ends, does it?”

Gabriel stays silent, contemplating how to even open his mouth. “Are you expecting praise, a statue built in your image? I ain’t got nothin’, pops.”

“I thought it was quite the ending – But I understand you’re not happy with it?”

The archangel is rigid with fury. “‘Not happy with it?’ Damn, fucking, right! You can go ahead and tear me apart molecule by molecule or snuff out my very existence, for what I’m about say, but I don’t fucking care!” His breathes are coming out as hot, steaming pants, “That kid is down there as we’re talking getting hate-banged by two very pissed-off archangels. And you haven’t done a damn thing about it! You’ve all but tuned him out, and for no better reason than you didn’t want to interfere. You’re a thoughtless bastard, a stupid son of bitch that – “

Gabriel gasps as he’s flung against the wall behind the bar, several bottles of various alcohols shattering and spraying. Chuck is standing now, his eyes have a deadness, a stillness. He’s still holding the same small volume, his thumb over Sam Winchester’s fictional counterpart. The archangel struggles against his father’s far superior power, a rumbling growl coming up from his chest. His fingers claw at the cheap wall paper beneath his fingers, and he meets the Lord’s eyes.

“I will not interfere. And you have no place condemning for not doing so,” The supreme being seethes, his voice a quiet calm, “He had free-will, he made his choice – I did not force him to jump –“

“Fair enough. I’ll have someone wrote you a prescription for a pair of testicles,” The archangel chokes out, the power pressing him to the wall staring to fell suffocating him, “He may have jumped, but you could have saved him, instead of leaving him down there at the mercy of your two strongest creations, your two sons that are angry with you, but have nothing and no one else to take it on.”

Chuck cocks his head to side, an almost innocent curiosity transcending the negative emotions in his eyes. “You… care for him, Gabriel. Don’t you?” When the Lord spoke, and asked anything from those beneath him, there was no lying, no disobeying, nothing of the sort. So, Gabriel was forced to tell the truth.

“…yes.”

“But, not in the way you care for your brothers,” The Lord whispers, his hand scratching at his crucify beard,” Nor any other sibling you have. No, you feel something deeper, more primal for him, yes?”

“…yes. Damn it, yes! But – “

In the few years, in comparison to the plethora of time he’d existed, Gabriel had known Sam Winchester he’d found no reason to feel the things he did for him. The feelings associated with the youngest Winchester were unpinnable, untraceable in both meaning and origin. They aren’t transitory like lust or something to regret like anger, no, it was something sublime.

“– I don’t know what it is.”

He recalled the first time he looked upon Sam’s face, it was not on the perfect features that he dwelled - not the gold flecked hazel eyes, nor the pomegranate pink lips. Instead it was the small blemishes and insecurities that allured him. The small scar on the neck, the shy smile, the small slouch that made his staggering height minimized, even if only ever so slightly. Because he was so tantalizingly human; a living, breathing creature that represented both sin and perfection.

“And I cannot tell you,” Chuck concludes, his lips a thin line, “But, you also have free will, I remind you. It was a gift I bestowed to all of my creations, so if you don’t like the ending of this story… than you simply have to change it.”

“Change it?”

“You’ll figure it out. And I bet it’ll make a hell of a story.”

Gabriel couldn’t help, but snort at that, “Sounds like a shitty story if you ask me pops.”

 

 

 

 

 

**July 23, 2008**

 

 

 

 

 

The bar is hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all of them competing with the rock music that dominates the atmosphere. The crowd is varied, students from the nearby university for the most part. Sam Winchester winds his way through the warm bodies to order a drink, the dark local beer with his own touch of course. He skims his fingers over the lining in his jacket, pulling out a large silver flask and dumping the contents into his glass. Crimson seeps through the alcohol, and absentmindedly, he dips his finger into the glass and stirs the mixture.

_“Better than mother’s milk.”_ Yellow eyes flash in Sam’s mind; burn there.

A group of young women in their thirties collapsed with helpless giggles as he turned to face them, all trying to beckon him over. Pouting that he refused to acknowledge them, they turned to a group of businessmen in their grey suits lighting up cigars. The noise level was high. The smoke level, too. But it didn’t bother him. He was used to it; an unfortunate habit of the demon he now kept in his company, Ruby.

Ruby was in the back, pestering a fellow demon that supposedly had ties to Lilith. She was practically sprawled over the demon’s lap, her hands rubbing up and down his chest as she whispered things in his ear that would make even a succubus blush. After a moment he nods, and she takes his hand leading him out the back door as she sends a wink in the hunter’s direction. Sam smirks and takes a sip of his drink. He feels the barstool to his side shift as a new patron takes his seat. The bartender throws his rag over his shoulder and plasters a tired smile.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks dryly.

“Get me a Sazerac, and don’t go light on the absinthe,” The man comments his voice light and upbeat, “And get a refill for the tall glass of water next to me.”

Not in the mood for another rough night with a stranger, the words “no thank you” almost graze past the hunter’s lips as he turns to the man. The trickster stares at him with an amused smile peaking past his lips. Before he can reply, another dark beer is shoved in front of him and the bartender has set to making the latter’s drink.

“The Sazerac combines all good things—rye whiskey, absinthe, and a punch of bitters,” The trickster explains softly,”...into a hell of a whiskey cocktail. Though, I can tell your drink packs one hell of a punch on its own.”

“If I had a stake I would do you in,” Sam warns, motioning to his hip where his gun resided, “But, getting shot where the sun doesn’t shine probably won’t feel nice, huh?”

The latter simpered, looking pleased with himself. He nodded in acknowledgment as the bartender slid his drink across the table and caught it with ease. Taking a moment, he took a long, heady drink from his glass, downing it in a matter of seconds.

“Yes,” The Pagan god responds, “Before you shoot a load up my ass, let me tell you. I’d much rather do that to you. Plus, you look like you need another drink and a shrink, so I’m going to take a gamble and say you won’t be sober for much longer. Besides, I thought we had fun the other night.”

_Dean was gone, and Sam Winchester had no conscience. He had encountered the trickster, still annoying and smugly alive as always, though he’d hoped differently. But after a few failed attempts of jabbing the Pagan god with a stake, coated in his last victim's blood, he had taken down a few drinks. Conscience was essential in the presence of this monster, but he was only human, and with memories of Dean’s death awaiting a clear head... He fell upon the bottle, hard._

_So, when the monster in question showed up unannounced in his hotel room, Sam Winchester knew beyond any doubt that he was going to die. Drunk, and suicidal, he didn’t even go through the trouble of a real fight._

“ _—I’m afraid you have me confused with somebody who gives a shit. But it’s okay,” The trickster purrs, having already easily disarmed the drunken hunter with a snap of his fingers. “-you don’t need to be embarrassed, turns out it happens all the time.”_

_The harsh scent of drink can be smelt of on Sam’s person. He knew it, and so does the Pagan god before him. He can see the large man struggling to keep his balance, and he knew he’s struggling to keep it. His legs don’t work as he tells them. Neither do his hands. Or his fingers. Somewhere, deep inside he knew his brain must be sending signals telling him what to do. Whether or not his body is listening is a different story._

_“Messing with you Winchesters is the most fun I’ve had,” The Pagan god sweeps the human’s legs out from under him. ”-without being forced to cuddle afterward.”_

_Sam landed hard on his back, the breath knocked out of him as the trickster landed on top and straddled his hips. Without leverage, he had no way of pushing off. Afraid that his life was at risk, the hunter started to sit up to fend him off, but he froze as the latter grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back._

_That was new. Just like what the trickster was doing now. The gargantuan man gasped, his hand pausing in midair. The tongue on his throat stole his breath more completely than the fall had. His body pressed against his, holding him down securely. For a moment he met his mocking eyes, and then the Pagan god forced his head even further back until all he could see was the ceiling._

“ _Relax, Sammy," The trickster whispered with a grin. "I promise I won't hurt you. Unless you ask, of course.”_

Sam sneered, “I make it a point to never enter a shrink’s office unless I’m planning on grossly overpaying somebody for telling me something that I already know,” He continues. “The other night was a mistake…”

“Look, I know you and I have never really connected – maybe that’s because I’m relentlessly annoying, or maybe it’s your fault because you can’t tolerate relentlessly annoying people – I don’t know,” He responds, his voice becoming low and husky,”But answer me one question: Do you want another drink?”

Sam glanced at the trickster, his jaw clenching as his mouth formed a thin line. He inclined his head forward and his eyes narrowed dangerously -the bitch face- before answering,” Shots.”

The pagan god was already ordering,” Two flaming B-52s, please,” Seeing the tall man’s puzzled look, he sniggered and states, “Aren’t you just too precious for this world? Kahlua, Irish cream, Cointreau, and a few drops of 151 rum.”

The bartender slid two petite, flaming shot glasses in front of the two men. The trickster eagerly took one and shoved the other into the hunter’s startled hands. The shorter man holds his glass up, and tips it towards the hunter with a wink. Sam’s turned his head to the side to avert his gaze, but the sudden rosiness of his cheeks gave him away.

They drink in silence, hoping that an answer lies at the bottom of the glass and then the bottom of the bottle and then the next bottle and the next. And so, the night drags on. Few words exchanged between them. And the words that are spoken are slurred and senseless.

Until the trickster utters one sentence,” I have a room in a motel not too far from here.”

Sam finished another shot,” Lead the way.”

The hunter was fairly sure that by the end of the evening he was going to get a horrible hangover. Then again, a hangover is most definitely a preferable alternative to thinking too much. Perhaps, it could even help him forget what would happen that night even faster.

There was movement between them, and slowly – very slowly – and after a moment the trickster realized that Sam’s face was almost out of reach. He dimly heard himself let out a low growl of displeasure. Without thinking he tightened his fingers in Sam’s strands and grabbed onto his broad shoulder with his other hand, yanking him down. It was hard, though.

But after bringing down the towering man to his height, he did not hesitate. Without giving the action a moment’s thought, without pausing for a single instant, he twisted his fingers deeper into the man’s mess of hair – and brought him down into a hard, ruthless kiss.

The trickster smiled lopsidedly into the kiss as he heard a deep, guttural moan escape the human’s throat. Flicking his tongue sensually out he was met with Sam’s, both pivoted against the other’s while hands started groping and kneading. He kept up the gently but arousing touches, wanting this to be as pleasurable as possible for the tight-assed human.

Suddenly Sam groaned as the Pagan god brushed his hands up his layered clothing, warm fingers brushing against delicate skin. Liking the response, he quickly pulled off the man’s jacket throwing it behind him, and with the speed of his dexterous hands, his shirt was swept away in that single fluid motion. He had totally undressed him from the waist up in less than two seconds.

“How, the hell, do you do that?" Sam choked out, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

The deity just smiled. "Talent."

Sam’s own fingers began fumbling over the buttons on the latter’s shirt. The trickster snapped his fingers and his shirt receded from view, at last, they were chest-to-chest bare.

“Fuck…” Sam’s head lolled back against the headboard while the older man pulled away from the kiss in favor of nipping his way down his collarbone.

“It’s okay, we'll go slowly." The trickster mumbled to him as his teeth grazed his skin. Then his mouth moved up and latched onto his collarbone again. He lightly bit the skin, then sucked up a bruise.

"F- _hck_ ," He weakly protested.

Despite his feeble protest, the smaller man continued to move up to his neck, nipping, sucking, while his hands drifted down and loosened the buckle that held his jeans. The large man felt the suction on his neck and moved his head to the side to give him more access

His hands slid down to the hems of his jeans, he pulled them down in one swift movement along with his boxers. Slowly, he pulled them to his ankles, tossed them aside, then looked at his nude body from a vantage point between her feet. Then, like a snake slithering up to his prey, the trickster slid between his legs, gently parting them as he drew nearer.

Ignoring the plea, his hand rubbed right against the man’s exposed member, slipping over all the moisture already built up at the tip. His body jerked at finally feeling it, and a cry shuddered out of his lungs. His touch became more purposeful, tracing tight circles right over the head, rubbing sensually until the hunter thrashed under him. The trickster wraps his hand around the now swollen member and continues stroking him painfully slow. The human curses and pushes into the teasing touch, wide eyes locked on him, lips parted and moist with saliva.

Abruptly, he pulls Sam closer by the hips and grinds their bare erections together, both men gasping at the wet, hot friction. The trickster’s fingers went down, brushing between the hunter’s cheeks suggestively. His husky voice rasps, ’Lube.’ And Sam doesn’t have to dig through a duffel to find it, instead he can simply reach back to the nightstand and snatch it from a drawer.

Sam’s smooth back curves upwards at the first press of one dry finger inside his hole and the two know all too well this is about as far as they can go without any additional lubricant. The shorter man pops the top off the lube and squirts a grape-sized blob on his fingers to warm it up before sliding his fingers back down and propelling in.

“F-fuck,” Sam hisses out clenching around the intruding digits. “P—please... J-just—Inside me—Now...”

Well, the trickster has never been strong enough to say no to him, so he lubes his manhood up and manhandles the larger man until he’s reclined all the way back, legs spread wide and showing off his firm ass and gaping hole, all wet and begging to be filled. Without warning, he spread the hunter’s long legs and lined his cock up, his free hand pushing on his back, pressing him into the mattress.

“Condom. Damn it, condom!” Sam growled into the pillow.

The trickster reached for the nightstand and grabbed one of the tin foils. He was close to shooting his load at once as he pulled the latex over his cock. There was a slight hesitance at the entrance as he pushed through firm muscles, then at about halfway in he felt a bit of friction as he reached an area of his shaft that had not gotten moist enough. He stopped there before the friction hurt them both, and he pulled back a little.

“Hold on,” Gabriel reassures, adjusting his hips.

The next thrust was more deliberate, going a little faster and deeper, yet Sam sensed he was not quite done. With a bit more lubricant him on his covered member, he pulled back once more, and the third thrust utterly filled him until he felt his balls pressed up against his perineum. Despite himself, it made him let out a pleasurable moan to be filled so full.

“Are you okay?" The trickster whispered as he watched the tenseness in his brow.

Sam nodded quickly, too afraid that if he tried to speak, only a squawking sound would come out. The shorter man spoke little, keeping quiet to listen to him. The moist sounds of the thrusting, the slap of skin when he thrust in quickly, and his gasping moans at each movement, made it hard for him not to lose control instantly.

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle,” The Pagan deity teases, giving a particularly hard thrust. He chuckles, seeing the larger man’s cheeks flush, “Well, in the ever-wise word of Gandhi, ’In a gentle way, you can shake the world, “Another thrust, “You have no idea what you’re getting into…”

The hunter smirks, a single bead of sweat going down his temple. He whispers chillingly,” Come and show me.”

Their session was starting to slow which only made it more lasting and pleasurable to the hunter. Sam had grabbed a hold of the blankets below him as the trickster sped up. His hips slammed against his end and made his thighs tremble. Then, the trickster abruptly changed his position, so he could wrap his arms around Sam. His lips lightly kissed the hunter’s upper chest and close to his shoulders. He still matched his thrust without pause. Their bodies were drenched in sweat and Sam’s body gleamed.

Sam’s hazel hues met with the trickster’s own golden eyes. A strong chest tightening connection began to surface and blossom within them. The hunter felt it strongly, every wrong feeling was thrown away and he basked in this sensation instead. The trickster smirked, his face was dripping with sweat, but the latter didn't mind it. Spots decorated his vision as they climaxed together. The trickster’s body trembled but they both tried to keep their tired eyes locked on one another.

Staring into the hunter’s hazel hues, made something within the confines of his mind stir. He closes his eyes.

_The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched, and he states,” Your daughter, she’s still human for now, but once she comes of age she will turn. I was going to kill her, and I still want to. But you’re here, and you’re what I came for,” He twists the machete in his grip,” I’m willing to let some other hunter handle it when she turns, giving her at least a few more precious years, if you tuck your tail between your legs and don’t put up a fight.”_

_“And if I do?"_

_“Then you've changed my mind for me, and I still get to do what I came here for. Personally, I really like that option, but I figure I'll let you choose."_

_The thing was quiet for a while, staring at Sam before turning to look at the floor. And then, out of nowhere, the hunter found a metal lamp being swung towards his chest; he had to back away quickly to avoid it. When the man swung again, he jumped backwards and onto the armchair, using his feet to tip it over. He brought his machete forward, cutting in an arc at the lamp, effectively shoving the thing back a few feet._

“ _Bad fucking decision," Sam hissed._

_Moving back towards the coffee table, the bloodsucking bastard broke a beer bottle on the side of the table, its sharp ends glistening now with the alcohol that dribbled off of it. He threw the bottle at him, placing the lamp on the ground._

“ _Saving your own, skin, huh?" Sam asked as he ducked the blow,”I think you just lost some brownie points." Pushing forward on the armchair, he flipped it back over and jumped onto the table as well, pleased when it held his weight. As he swung his machete down, ready to remove Vergara's head from his shoulders, the man dropped to the floor, taking another broken bottle with him. He quickly crawled beneath the table and came out the other side, climbing up as well. It must've been quite sturdy._

_Sam twisted his leg around and kicked the man off of the table, right into the television which crashed to the floor. Jumping, he aimed the blade for his abdomen but found the floor when the man weakly rolled away. As he pulled it out, he found that the thing was now behind him, retrieving the lamp that he'd originally had._

_They stood facing each other. Sam twirled the blade. "Stupid."_

“ _I’m not lettin' you come back here. Not for me, and not for my girl," He responded, his eyes fiery,” I’d rather die - “ And so he did._

_A voice at the doorway spoke,” What the hell was that thing?”_

_Sam glances up, and inclines his head to the side, his face a puzzled expression. Gabriel, the archangel, was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest with a sucker bulging from his cheek._

_“A Chiang Shih, a more colorful Chinese vampire which draws its power from the moon and is created when a cat jumps over a corpse,” Sam says nonchalantly, wiping his machete off on a blanket that was strewn over the couch._

_“Nice to see you too, Samsquatch - “_

_“It’s strange,” The hunter comments,” That death seems to be less than permanent lately, for a lot of us. How in the hell are you back?”_

_“No small-talk. I get it. But I could ask you the same thing.”_

_Sam answers,” I don’t know what brought me back. But it doesn’t matter. I’m back, I’m staying, and that’s all that matters.”_

_“I talked to Castiel before I came to find you. He told me some... interesting things,” Gabriel says, his face neutral._

_The left side of his faint red lips tugged upwards creating a smirk on the hunter’s face. “Things of a soulless nature?”_

_“…Yes.”_

_The machete turned in his hand, and Sam snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re one of the many ready to sign a petition to get ol’ Sammy back? The puppy-eyed moron?”_

_“I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t have that many fans?”_

“ _None,” Sam states bluntly,” Dean, the other guy’s brother…He just wants the image of Sammy he’s conjured up, this puppy-eyed idiot who rides shot-gun and indulges him. But I am Sam, just as much as the other guy is. I’m just not his brother. The block-head just refuses to see it.”_

_Gabriel gives him a smile, and asks,” I take you’re not one to put up with his nonstop finger pointing and ‘blah-blah-blah’?”_

_The hunter moves his hand in the air like it’s a puppet, opening and closing his fingers like his hand is talking,” Sam, I know you’re hiding something from me! Enough with all of these lies!” His voice is deep and gravely, obviously a poor impersonation of his big brother._

_“Wow, your mouth is kinda like a magician’s hat. You never know what’s going to come out.”_

_“And you have the IQ of a toothbrush,” Sam replies._

_“Fitting as I want to be in your mouth.”_

_Sam scoffs, giving him a lopsided smile, and chuckles softly. “You know, it’s a shame. If you obviously didn’t like the other guy so much, I think we’d get along fine.”_

_“It is a shame. I bet you’d be open to all kinds of crap in bed,” Gabriel agreed. He frowned as the latter spun the machete in his hand and began making his way towards the other room,” What are you doing?”_

_“Finishing the job,” Sam answers, his voice flat._

_The archangel’s jaw clenched, and he says,” She’s just a kid. Maybe she won’t end up like her old man,” The hunter’s facial expression doesn’t falter as he twists the doorknob,” Sam, damn it! Don’t –“_

“Distracted much?” Sam spoke in a low and breathless voice.

“Remembering,” The Trickster corrected, his fingers digging into the firm skin under them.

“Remembering who knows what while I’m here, naked, basking in our afterglow, but wanting you to make good on your promise of leaving me unconscious,” Sam grinned as much as he could muster with his quickening breaths and trembling lips, “Not your best move, asshat. I’m tempted to just ride you, since you’re obviously not willing to put in any effort.”

“Well you best get to riddin’,” The Trickster says in an unbelievably bad Southern accent,” Missie.”

 

_______

 

The next morning Sam woke up to an empty bed, a cooling space where the trickster had been. It was extremely late in the morning – much later than the hunter, who was an early riser both by preference and training, usually slept. It was both a relief and a disappointment that the Pagan deity had left him. Dealing with the monster was exhausting, but not dealing with him was, in its own way, tiring too.

Feeling clearer headed than he had the day before, he rose, washed briskly, and dressed, wrinkling his nose when he realized his flannel was horribly wrinkled, and briskly pressed it with the cheap hotel iron. Later, he picked at a book of Ancient Greek he’d discovered while he ate his breakfast, which was just as it had been the day before—A fruit smoothie from a lovely shop down the road.

Then, Sam’s half-empty plastic cup disappeared, leaving him grasping at empty air. The moment he puts down his book to investigate, he is surrounded by an enormous array of breakfast foods. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes, and a tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep them chilled. The basket of croissants set before him would be enough carbs to keep anyone going for a week. There's an elegant glass pitcher of orange juice, petite strings of pulp floating across the surface and cascading through the bottom. On the corner of the table there’s a small note card reading: I heard it’s polite to have breakfast after a one-night stand. If you’re ever not so sober and up for making some regrettable decisions, you know who to call.

Sam glanced the note over, his face cast as dead-pan as he could manage, yet he failed. There at the corner of his would-be somber lips was a crease of amusement. But his phone let out a text alert, but instead of his usual ringtone, a man’s moan elicited from it. The hunter felt his cheeks flush, and he grabbed the phone reading the message: I’ll be back tonight ;).

“Son of a bitch.”

 

_______

 

Sam Winchester was a man of few fears. There were few things on earth he could genuinely say he was remotely startled by, barring John Winchester himself and, if he was being shamefully honest, clowns. He had reasons to fear them, rational reasons. Other rational fears- monsters, heights, death, pain- had been driven out of him agonizingly through the years, with extensive experience and ruthless attempts on his life.

He had no rational reason to fear the lanky, short man standing straight-backed and resolutely silent in front of him, so he told himself he didn’t, although he was showing all of his usual nervous ticks. Excessive gulping, foot-tapping, averted eye contact—the works. The trickster held the silver flask in his hand, his honey-brown eyes narrowed dangerously that challenged the hunter, no, triple-dog-dared him to try and defend himself.

"Look--I can ex--"

“You can what?” The trickster interrupted with a snarl, “Explain? God, Winchester, I knew you were going off-the-deep-end, but this? You have no idea what you’re messing with, and I hate to tell you, but it’s obvious that demon-bitch of yours is not too keen on informing you!” He clenched his fist around the flask, and the metal gave way to his impressive strength, it squealed, and blood gushed from its confines running down his hands.

Sam dove, his hands cupping the shorter man’s sullied hand. Blood now ran down Sam’s fingers in heavy torrents, dripping onto the carpet below, and it took all the man’s strength not to lap it up like a starving dog. He didn’t like what he was, but he was so weak emotionally right now. Too much pain, too much suffering. He couldn’t resist the pull towards addiction that roared through his blood. The trickster made to pull his bloodstained hands away, but the human’s grip only tightened as his head bowed low. Then the taller man’s face was mere inches from the shorter man’s sullied fingers, sulfur rank in the air as the blood began run down the latter’s arm. Sam’s tongue ran over his lips, eyes dark with bloodlust.

The Pagan god let out a cruel, mirthless laugh, yanking his hand out of the human’s grip, he wiped off his hand on the bedding. After a moment, he hisses,” What'd you do, find yourself some all-too-willing demon bitch to drain the second your brother was gone, beg her for some of that sweet, sweet demon blood? A way to drink all your emotions away, to twist and corrupt your soul until it’s not your baggage, until you don’t even resemble something human anymore?” He sneers at the human, “After all, it’s easier to just not feel at all, right?”

Sam stayed silent throughout the latter’s entire rant, his eyes glued to the ground. His hazel hues finally glance up, a shine of tears going across as they began to redden.” I-I-I couldn’t save him,” His voice shatters with grief and regret.” I-I tried to--my soul, crossroads—they wouldn’t fucking take it. ’Round and round the Winchesters go’. It’s a game, a goddamned game to them!” He sniffles and blinks rapidly, trying to clear away the sheen of tears,” Lilith, s-she took him away, a-and made me watch as he was turned into a fucking hellhound chew-toy. And you know what, I’ve got demon blood in me! This disease pumping through my veins that I can never rip out or scrub clean, but I can use this fucking curse and turn into a blessing! A way to kill that damned bitch… Lilith.”

The trickster tilts his head forward, his face actually feigning something that resembled pity. It wasn't that he was cruel, he just didn't give a damn what the human thought. And he was blunt. Whatever he wanted from anybody he just told them straight, he didn't try to sugar-coat it or bargain, so he sure as hell wasn’t doing it for this human.

“You cling to the memory of your sacrifices, of all of the things you’ve lost. They drag behind you, like chains of your own making. You have let go of the people, the places, and the things, but you have not let go of the pain. You have not forgiven yourself.”

“...For what?”

“Being alive,” He pulls back, seeing the emotional baggage in his hazel eyes, and allows his own to illuminate a pale blue, “There is another way, but you aren’t going to like it. It's a stupid plan, it'll hurt, worse than anything you’ve ever felt, and it'll probably get you ganked in the end, and if you’re not, you’ll never be the same again, “He sneers leaning into his face, “But what've you got to lose, sasquatch?”

Sam lets out a breath, pushes away from the man, disengaging himself from his pale blue eyes that shone brightly as a rippling ocean in sunlight. He inhales deeply, letting out one last shuddering breath, “What... What the hell are you?”

"Not like this. Let me sober you up first," The trickster says, pressing his two forefingers against the human’s forehead. Sam moans in relief, all signs of his hangover gone,” Hey, Sammy. C’mon—we’re going to get some grub. Get the hell out of this box so we can talk.” He walks towards the door, and Sam’s thundering footsteps follow.

 

______

 

The trickster walked over to the counter and ordered himself a triple-chocolate milkshake with extra whipped cream, and a plain vanilla milkshake with extra whipped cream, for Sam. "Thanks," He said when the women handed him his drinks, and she beamed at him, appreciative of the generous tip he’d given her. He slid another ten onto the counter with a wink. ” Later, sweetheart.”

"I hate whipped cream," Sam complained when his reluctant companion slid the vanilla milkshake across the table towards his waiting hand.

“I know you do,” The Pagan god picked up his own milkshake and slurped at it obnoxiously, smirking as the human groaned in disgust, “But it costs more for extra whipped cream.”

“That's disgusting.” Sam gave him a flat stare.

"I like sugar, so sue me."

Sam took his spoon and scooped out as much of the whipped cream from his milkshake as he could. Then he dropped the whole dollop could the trickster’s already empty glass. The latter nodded in approval using his spoon to eagerly take in the extra whipped cream. The human suddenly looked at the trickster, his eyes staring at him quizzically. Just what was the shorter man playing at? First, he used Sam as a booty call and drinking mate, now, he’s trying to help him? He was not convinced to say the least.

But the need for revenge was like a rat gnawing at his soul, relentless, unceasing, it could only be stopped by the cold steel of a rat trap, a trap he would devise himself. His need for revenge was like an abscess on the skin of the soul that could only be cured by the cruel sharp steel point of revenge. Festering like a septic wound, and the only effective antibiotic is cold hard revenge.

“Yikes,” The trickster comments, running his thumb across his lip to lap off any remaining whipped cream, “Diving into your head is like a Wes Craven movie. I’m surprised ol’ Krueger himself isn’t running around in your noggin.”

Sam’s cheeks reddened, his eyes narrowing, “Stay out of my head.”

The latter held up his hands in mock surrender, “Whatever. It’s hard to stay out your head when you’re practically yelling out your thoughts, “He rolls his eyes and turns to a passing waitress, “Can I get an order of the triple chocolate brownie á la mode?”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters with a shake of his head, “So, you brought me here for a reason. If you’re going to kill me, you better kill me now, hell, I won’t even fight back.”

The trickster rolled his eyes, “You’re cute,” He folds his hands and places them on the table, “You’ve tugged at my heartstrings and have forced my sentimental side to come forward.”

"I…I don’t…understand.”

“First, you should know I’m not what I appear to be. I’m something much more primordial, more juiced up than a trickster. Because of that I know better, more effective ways of gaining power, ” The trickster explains, his lips a fine line, “Ways that won’t leave you reeling for another hit, so some demon can turn you into their bitch. Second, I’m much, much more fun to be with seeing as I provide additional things: snogging, light cuddling, sex—”

“Oh, god—”

“—Is what you’ll be screaming—”

“Please stop…”

”—might even throw in some different positions—”

“Trickster,” Sam exclaims, looking around the family establishment in mortification, “Okay, let’s say you do want to help me, why would you do it? Surely you aren’t doing it from the goodness of your heart. What’s the catch—”

The shorter man is on the move in seconds, leaning over their table and pulling the human down for a heated kiss, hot and deep and chocolate-flavored. After a moment he pulls back as if nothing happened. ” You were talking too much. Ease up on the questions—”

“What do you want?”

“I told you before, Sammy. I’m sentimental,” The shorter man replies with a shrug, “I want to see you fulfill your Kill Bill fantasy, your Rocky II comeback, your Rambo revenge rampage, your—Not to mention it makes for more tactical coitus.”

“I don’t—tactical…?”

“You know,” He replies, an almost hungry sheen in his eyes, ”Nooky, whoopee, bonking, boinking, boffing, a roll in the hay, quickie, coition, sexual intercourse, lovemaking, making love, sex act, relations, mating, copulation, birds and the bees, carnal knowledge, facts of life—”

Sam sputters and chokes on his milkshake for the second time that morning,” Jeez, I don’t even… I mean—” He runs his fingers through his hair, “How do I even begin to trust you?”

“I’m sorry, let me get this straight. You’re willing to work with a demon,” The trickster questions indecorously,”—and you’re just now worrying about the issue of trust? I’m honestly hurt, Samitch. But if you must know, I like to play both sides, to keep things interesting.”

 

_______

 

Ruby’s meatsuit lay slumped on the floor, her eyes scorched into her skull as her mouth stayed agape. The meatsuit’s brunette hair is singed and clings to her flayed skin. Her hands are dug into the hotel’s cheap carpet, almost as if she were trying to scratch it away to escape. Her feet were at odd angles, the heels of her black leather boots snapped off.

The archangel Gabriel observed his work with a sense of pride. The human stared at the shorter man’s side, his lips parted in a mixture of awe and disgust. Sam let’s out a shaking breath, his eyes glued to the decimated meatsuit. The archangel’s eyes still glow a place blue.

“How did you, what are you…?”

“I’m something much more primordial, more juiced up than a trickster. Because of that I know better, more effective ways of gaining power.”

Gabriel’s wings are azure shadows on the peeling wall, and Sam’s hazel hues are just now noticing them. The human takes a step closer to the smaller man, and despite his towering height, he feels minuscule next to him. The archangel smirked, quirking his head towards the human as he offered his hand forward. The very first beam of the silver moon rebounded on pure gold feathers.

“Angel,” Sam whispers in realization.

“Gabriel,” Gabriel states with an air of cockiness, “The Archangel Gabriel.”

Gabriel snaps his finger and a bottle of Spirytus Rektyfikowany, a highly concentrated ethanol which has been purified by means of repeated distillation, landed in his lap. He quickly unscrewed the cap and poured some into a shot glass, and gently pressed it to the human’s lips.

Sam Winchester, his muscles flexing powerfully, glowered into the other’s tranquil honey-brown eyes. Some part of him, deep in the back of his mind, kept warning him, trying to tell him to run. He ignored the warning. He sipped cautiously at the alcohol and coughed at the strong burn it elicited.

“Sam,” The archangel repeated calmly, “It’s all right. Relax. Sit down.”

Sam realized that he was standing. He didn’t remember getting up. Some of his hunter-self seeped back into his mind, calming him down, slowing his breathing within him. He looked down into Gabriel’s calm, undisturbed face. The primordial being, his thatch of light brown hair framing an angular face set in a perceptive cast, studied him, assessed him with the slightest hint of a smirk fixed in the corners of his mouth.

“Y-you’re an… angel,” Sam repeats in stunned realization, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “I always believed, but I never—I would never think…” Another shot was pressed against the curve of his mouth and he eagerly took it.

Sam had always believed in Heaven and Hell; angels, demons, God, the whole biblical shebang. From the time he’d first touched a bible, he’d prayed every night before he laid his head to rest because he honestly believed without a single fleeting doubt, that God would listen and answer. But, time passed, and no answers were given, his dedication and faith were not to be rewarded, but still, he prayed to God: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…

Sam took another deep breath, letting it out slowly as he put his hands on his lap, intertwining his fingers. He watched his hands as he spoke, “Tell me, everything.”

“That’s a bit of a broad topic,” Gabriel replies, a wry smile on his face.

“I want to know,” The hunter says, his eyes shining like that of a curious child, “Everything that you’ve been hiding from me. Tell me, why would an archangel pretending to be a pagan god, want to help a human kill a demon?”

“Because if you don’t kill Lilith, soon, she’s going to help jumpstart the fucking apocalypse,” Gabriel spits out, his honey-brown eyes stone-cold with dread and anger, “And trust me, a cage match between two brothers who loved each other, and betrayed each other; humanity is going to end up as collateral damage no matter who wins.”

Sam sat, gripping the empty shot glass in his hand, eyes wide in breathless bewilderment. “Tric-Gabriel,” He whispered, “What in the name of everything good are you talking about?”

The archangel the human for a moment, before responding, “It’s a long story,” He places the entire bottle of Spiritus Rektyfikowany onto the human’s lap, “Drink up, Sammy, I’m about to rock your world…” He looked down at Sam and held the other’s gaze while he spoke,” The Apocalypse was foretold thousands of years ago, shortly after my big brother Lucifer was imprisoned in the cage. The prophecy stated that the 66 Seals would eventually be broken, and that Lucifer would escape his cage, bringing about the Apocalypse. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would assist him in destroying humanity. My oldest brother, the Archangel Michael was to then take a human vessel descended from Cain and Abel and lead the "final charge" against Hell and personally kill Lucifer in battle. Lucifer's death would bring about Paradise on Earth or what was left of it anyway,” He sighs, “This of course is only Sunday dinner for my family.”

Sam takes another drink, handing the bottle to Gabriel, “What’s the cage?”

“Ah, Lucifer’s Cage,” The archangel takes the bottle, puts back a swig and grits out,” Lucifer's Cage is a special part of Hell, designed by Dad to imprison Lucifer after he rebelled against Heaven, twisted a human soul into the first demon and corrupted the Garden of Eden,” He snorts, “And they said I was the trouble child, being the youngest and all.”

“I still don’t understand— “

“You should make that a t-shirt.”

Sam shot the archangel a glare and continued, “What does any of this have to do with me killing Lilith? And how would her death prevent the apocalypse, she’s just another demon, right?”

“Wrong,” The latter proclaims,” Lilith is the first human soul to be twisted into a demon. The first in line of many “fuck you’s” to God from Lucifer. So, it would make sense that she is the final seal to open his cage, but if you can kill her before any other seals break— “

“The Cage would stay closed,” Sam whispers.

“And there would be no apocalypse,” Gabriel points at Ruby’s mutilated meatsuit,” She was on a mission, Sam, a mission to try and get you to break that seal. To try and dupe you into starting frickin’ Armageddon! Demon blood will make you stronger, strong enough to kill Lilith, but it takes longer and comes with a nasty habit.”

“Can you,” Sam gulps, not believing the next words to come out of his mouth, “Can you show me another way?”

“There’s something you should know first,” The archangel utters, “Your brother, he is the first seal. ‘And it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break.’ All of this, you dying at Cold Oak Cemetery, Dean selling his souls for you and being sent to Hell, everything, it’s all been a plot—A sick, twisted plot to start the Apocalypse.”

“No,” Sam hisses, “No, no, he can’t, he wouldn’t—Can’t you save him? You’re an archangel, surely you’re strong enough— “

Gabriel shakes his head, “In the beginning, when the apocalypse was first being formulated, the other angels and God himself feared that someone would try to do what we’re doing, put a halt to the apocalypse train, so they put protections around the seals. Once the righteous man enters Hell, no one can get him out, not until the first seal is broken. The same goes for the final seal, that is why only you can kill Lilith, but it was never specified on who could assist.”

“Are we really doing this,” Sam gulps, his hazel hues starting to burn, “Going against Heaven and Hell, to put a stop to the end of times, something that’s been planned for God-knows-how-long. We’re just— “

“A boy with demon blood and an angel with a mind of his own,” Gabriel finishes with the slightest hint of a smile, “Both with nothing to lose, just each other.”

Sam takes a heavy swig from the Spiritus Rektyfikowany, draining nearly half the bottle. The two stayed silent for a long while, but during the tense silence, Gabriel laughed. It started soft, hearty but quickly twisted into a cruel, mirthless laugh that held no semblance of anything sanguine.

“God, all of this is just so fucked up,” The archangel snarls, laughing harder still, “You know, we’re more alike than I care to admit, Sam. We’re both nothing like our families, Hell, we’re both not a thing like our dads. And we both keep trying to get out but keep getting dragged back no matter how hard we try.”

“Yeah,” Sam says softly, offering the bottle to the archangel, “Maybe that’s why we’re drawn to each other. Can’t stay away, despite… everything.” The tricks, the lies, but the truth is just enough to make up for everything.

“I meant what I said before, by the way,” Gabriel confirms, taking the bottle with an appreciative nod, “I am sentimental, towards you I mean, and I do want you to get your revenge, Rambo.”

The hunter tenses, his heart beating heavily in his chest, “What do you mean by sentimental?”

The archangel frowns, taking a deep sip from the bottle, “I’m not going to say it.”

 

 

 

 

 

**August 4, 2008**

 

 

 

 

 

The map was little more than a large array of brightly colored tacks and photographs to Sam Winchester now. Of course, underneath all of the day’s work remained the detailed information of Kansas that he would ultimately use in junction with his own. But for now, all that mattered were his tactics and thumbtacks. Always a perfectionist, as he rearranged the map today, he revised his notes as well. But he had to write a key on a little sticky note for Gabriel, the archangel that was much more interested in banging him against a desk, rather than actually reading up on what was needed.

 

 

 

 

 

Yellow-Alive

 

 

 

 

 

Red-Dispatched

 

 

 

 

 

Blue-Dead

 

 

 

 

 

White-Resources

 

 

 

 

 

Clear-Notes

 

 

 

 

 

Sam’s color-coded system had been put to use in the recent weeks, but now there was a lot more yellow than before, something that put him at a state of uneasiness. Red had been dispatched with entirely; as far as he was concerned, everyone on his list was just a means to an end. The actual bodies that were cooling in the morgue or already six feet under, still marked in blue, had taken a count of nine. Yellow dots rubbed salt into the wound; thirteen of Lilith’s demons active, that he knew of. The white tacks had remained in place- hunters he might need to talk to if he couldn't find someone.

Gabriel walked in at that moment, his honey-brown eyes shining, then they landed on the map and he gave an eye-roll, inaudibly voicing his displeasure at his companion’s busywork. Sam smirked, turning to his notes scattered all over the desk, taking little thumbtacks and coordinating them over the map. The archangel flopped onto the couch, reaching his hand towards the open bag of snickers on the table; the bag flew into Sam’s open hand.

“Uh, Sammy, when I said to practice your powers, I didn’t realize my candy would be put at risk,” Gabriel grunts, his lips pursed as he lazily flicked his wrist forward. The plastic bag flew from Sam’s hand, towards the archangel’s waiting arms but then halted midair as Sam extended his hand forward again. “You know, Sasquatch, I have been finding you less tedious as of late. I’m even developing a begrudging soft-spot for you, but you touch my snickers…” He left the threat open for interpretation.

Sam laughed, he genuinely laughed for the first time in months, his hazel hues filled with mirth. Gabriel couldn’t help it as a smile spread to his own lips, and he flicked his wrist again, pulling telekinetically at the favored bag of candy. Sam laughs, and pulls even harder, the bag starting to lean towards him. The look of shock on the archangel’s face was comical, but this of course only made him more determined as he gave a final tug with his mind. The bag tore in half, snickers raining down like confetti at a parade.

“You really should lay off the candy, Gabe,” Sam comments nonchalantly, turning to the map once more as his companion scrambled for the scattered pieces of chocolate.

“What do you think I’m going to do,” Gabriel counters, scooping armfuls into the lift of his shirt, “Stay up late, eat raw cookie dough, and pinkie-swear my diet will start tomorrow?” He pops a piece into his mouth, and continues past his mouthful, “How would you like to be in a broken jaw commercial?”

Sam looked up in surprise, his fingers still tense around a solitary piece of candy. “What,” He asks in mock surprise, “Even I like the occasional piece of candy. And I seriously doubt you’ll miss one piece…”

Gabriel twisted his body towards him and leaned as much of his weight into Sam as he could, catching the piece of candy in between his fingers. Sam scrambled backwards on the bed, tugging possessively at the sugary treat, until he met the headboard. He smiles inwardly when Gabriel followed him up the bed, crawling in between his long legs and pressing up against his chest. The archangel’s fingers were still taut around the treat, but his eyes ever so slowly shifted from the chocolate, to his companion’s parted lips.

“…You’re drunk.” It wasn’t a question. The archangel’s playful gaze Immediately turned into a glower as he snarls, “Sam, you’re going to drink yourself six feet under if you keep going on like this. You need to stop.”

Sam’s own smile fell, and he responds, “I know, but I don’t think I want to.”

“I know," Gabriel repeats dumbly, “But you have to. Any other time I’d be digging my own hole next to you, but…you can’t afford to do yourself in now. Not with everything at stake, Sam.”

Sam opened his eyes and stared at the latter. Nothing had ever felt so impossible, so… so futile. Drinking was a classic Winchester coping method – Something he’d been taught to do the first time Dean smuggled a few bottles into their motel room, shoving one into his hands. When Sam asked why, Dean had answered, ‘That last hunt…it was rough.’ Drinking to excess, whether it be alcohol or demon-blood was always preferable to actually dealing with the emotional turmoil he was going through.

The archangel had already dried him out, making sure there was no demon-blood in his system that wasn’t already there. The pitying gaze Sam has received when he actually asked if Gabriel could take that way, too. Evidently not. The demon blood already in his system was there to stay, and as he suspected, would always be. Without demon blood, he simply took in a different type of drink.

“How?" Sam almost begged. He knew what, knew he had to find a way to remember Dean, but not… mourn him. But he hadn't even the faintest notion how do it.

Gabriel gave him that same pitying gaze as he squeezed his companion’s hand, “I haven’t got a clue, Sam.” The hunter felt his heart clench, “Day by day, I suppose." The archangel looked over to the window, his gaze seemed leagues away.

“Time heals all wounds," Sam quotes bitterly.

“So, say the wise," Gabriel said with a sigh.

“Aren't archangels supposed to be wise and all-knowing?" Sam questions with a hint of a smile.

“I used to think so," The archangel half smiled, half grimaced as he answered, “Now… I think we are just as foolish as the rest of you. Perhaps even more so. I mean, just look at my brothers – Willing to destroy everything our father ever made, all for the sake of some supposed destiny.”

In that moment Sam wondered if Gabriel blamed himself for what happened. Despite his attempts to disassociate himself from heaven, it was still his home. They were still his family, but he didn’t want to choose sides. He didn’t want to fight any of them, until he realized that he didn’t have a choice. The archangel looked so old and weary in his vessel, that the hunter couldn't help but think he did. He yearned to reassure him that it was not his fault. That his brothers had made their own choices, choices that they would have made a thousand times over. But all he did was squeeze his hand back.

Gabriel stayed up with him for the rest of that night. The archangel forced him into the bath and shoved a brush in his hand, declaring that he would not step out of the room until he stopped smelling like a tavern. He then poured out every last bit of alcohol that he had hidden around the hotel room. He even confiscated the hunter’s credit cards and cash, so that he couldn’t purchase anymore.

“You’ll get these back when I know I can trust you,” Gabriel declares, pocketing them, “Until then, if you need anything I’ll either snap my fingers or go get whatever you need for you, okay?”

The thought of not drinking wasn't comforting, Sam realized. There was no assurance in this. There was nothing to hold back his despair or sooth the wounds of his mind and body. It simply was. And he would have to deal with it. He would have to move forward; have to see the sun rise and the sun set while Dean did not. He was the one who would have to smile and speak and move his tired limbs.

He was the one who had to live.

Somewhere deep in his mind, Sam knew he should be grateful for that, but right now it felt nothing more than a burden. Dean had sold his soul, had gone to hell for him, and he couldn’t come back unless he started… It was hard, and it was tiring, and it hurt more than anything. He didn't…. he didn't want any of this. He wanted Dean. He had only wanted Dean. And now he had nothing but grief.

Sam squeezed Gabriel’s hand again and buried his face into his chest. He knew he should move; he shouldn’t attach himself to somebody else... But all he did was weep. Warm tears poured out between gasping breaths. He was still fuzzy with alcohol, so he had no handle over his emotions, not like he usually did. The archangel is stiff as he holds the hunter against him, the tears going down his neck like burning oil.

“Sam,” Gabriel says softly.

“It should have been me.”

“What?”

“He never should have sold his soul for me – None of this would have happened if he would have just let me stay dead. I was ready to die, I was…” Sam trailed off,” If he doesn’t break the first seal, if he doesn’t come back, I’m prepared to avenge him…that’s all that matters.”

Gabriel inclines his head, and asks, “If he does?” Sam stayed silent.

 

 

 

 

 

**August 17, 2008**

 

 

 

 

 

Upon the forest floor lie trees of yesteryear, fallen in storms long forgotten. The seasons have been harsh, stripping away the bark and outer layers, yet rendering them more beautiful. They have the appearance of driftwood, twisting in patterns that remind Sam Winchester of seaside waves; even the color of the moss is kelp-like. They are soft, damp, yet his fingers come away dry.

Sam tilts his head upward, feeling his hair tickle his cheek bones; the pines are several houses tall, reaching toward the golden rays of spring. Birdsong comes in lulls and bursts, the silence and the singing working together as well as any improvised melody. His lips part and he takes a deep breath, rose-pink lips semi-illuminated by the dappled light. After a moment, he tilted his head back up and continued his walk in the forest.

Nearly 8 hours ago Sam had gotten a call from some of his late father’s hunting buddies. Evidently a group of demons had been seen skulking in the forests near Waterbury, Connecticut, and Sam was the only hunter nearby with enough experience.

“ _Okay, Sam Winchester, I’ve got a hunt for you. It's not that bloody for the moment, but I’ve got a feeling that it’s about to be,” The man over the phone explains causally,” It’s right down in Waterbury, and you're closest."_

“ _Can’t do it,” Sam replies._

“ _What do you mean you can’t do it? We’ve got demon omens and three missing people,” The man shoots back, his tone disbelieving, “No doubt being used as meat suits— “_

“ _Alright, alright,” Sam keeps the phone to his ear, and starts shuffling around the hotel room to father his things, “Okay, yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours—Really it’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” Sam ends the call, rubbing a hand over his face._

He quickly grabs the hotel paper pad, running the tip of the closest pin over his tongue. He scratched several times and nodded in approval seeing little lines of ink scatter across the page. He quickly writes, ‘Hunt came up. Be back in a few hours’-Sam. No doubt the archangel would be seething when he found out he left without informing him or bringing any back up, but he had a family business to carry on.

Suddenly, the sounds in the forest fell dead still. The hunter looked up, flinching as a dark shadow swept over the ground, leaping across limbs and leaves. There was a rushing, whistling sound in the air overhead. Birds burst from cover in the trees, giving alarm as they scattered in all directions. He peered up, searching through the canopy of gold and green, trying to find the shadows source. His eyes locked on something. There was movement.

Other movement snatched his attention. Sam’s eyes searched the shade and shadows. Behind him, something was out there. Three, no, four demons, in dark clothing, following him, hanging back some distance. They moved with stealth, from tree to rock to tree. Looking. Waiting. Moving. Sam straightened to his full height, his eyes wide, attention riveted. They were stalking him.

The bushes and trees were almost silhouettes, the blackest of greens. He scanned for any more movement. None. Then the wind died, the leaves ceased to rustle, even the nonsensical noises of wildlife was absent. In those frozen seconds he could hear the crunch of dried twigs under boot, just enough to give him the location of his quarry. It was in that moment of absolute stillness that God must have tipped the balance to him; he swung around, hand in the air.

“You’re not strong enough,” One sneers, his head tilting forward, “We heard about your dealer, Ruby, she’s long gone, and junkies can’t get their fix without a dealer. Can they?”

“No, Ovaltine for you, Sammy,” A female one hisses, her tongue flicking at him like a serpent’s, “You’re just like the rest of those hairless apes now; pathetic, useless, powerless— “

Sam smiles ever so slightly, a deadly calm emoting from him. The four demons quickly silenced their taunting, clearly perplexed by the lack of, well, anything. They’d locked eyes with the iciest steel eyes ever seen, just echoing a dark power that lingered inside. An involuntary shiver rolled slickly down the female demon’s spine. She had been warned of the viciousness, the ferocity that had come with the demon blood, but she’d been told he was off it—She even sniffed at the air, not a drop that wasn’t already there.

“Go to Hell,” Sam commands.

The four demons halted, their bodies like stones as he weighted them down with telekinetic energy. Four pairs of eyes flashed back at him, all of them dark like oil spills as they spewed threats and curses. Sam slowly lifted his caressed fingers into the air, his eyes narrowed dangerously—Snap. A snap of his fingers was all that it took, and they unraveled at his feet, they were scorched into the Earth as their dark, tempestuous souls sunk back into the rotting crevices of Hell.

It happened too fast for Sam to even see it properly before he was lifted in the air and holding his guts in his hands. He crumpled against whatever was suspending him, almost surprised, staring up at the sky with warm blood rushing out of his body, without even an idea of what had happened. A young woman suddenly walked forward, her brunette braids almost blending in with her plethora of leather, and her tongue snaked up and down a rainbow-colored popsicle.

The young woman stops licking for a second, her lips forming a malicious grin as she rolls her eyes backwards into black oil-spills. “Sam, it’s so good to see you,” Meg purrs, her voice soft and feminine with her meatsuit’s,” It’s been a long while, but when I heard you were out and about, I had to pop by and pay a visit. We do have quite the history, don’t we?”

Sam spits out a mouthful of blood, his eyes drooping down to see what was protruding from his stomach, suspending him in the air—a gnarly tree root bigger than his arm. He coughed another mouthful of blood. He couldn't think. Trying to move only shifted his weight on the root suspending him. He struggled to breathe, trying to drag air through his torn lungs.

“You’re strong now, Sammy,” Meg sighs dramatically, her painted fingernails tracing up the sides of the splintered wood, “But, you’re still human, you make mistakes. You looked away for a split second and I managed to impale you before you could snap your fingers again and send me to hell for what is it? Oh... yes, the third time.”

Sam let his eyes fall closed. It was like sinking. He was so cold, shivering; if Hell was really fire maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. It was over, all over—After everything he’d done, what he’d nearly become, Lilith had won and all because he’d glanced away for a mere fucking second. He would join his brother in the pits of hell, maybe he’d smile as they both screamed together. Something like him could never go anywhere else, didn’t deserve any better than his own brother because he didn’t deserve to.

It was over. And then it wasn’t. He woke up with the sun in his eyes, his back dry and crusty from dried blood. It was early morning and there was blood all over his shirt but no mark underneath. Someone was carrying him away, the very first beam of light from the morning sun rebounded on pure gold feathers.

“You brought me back,” Sam whispers, his voice hoarse.

“No,” Gabriel’s voice is strained. The answer hung in the air, and for a moment neither dared say it, “I told you, when you undertook this… Becoming stronger, it would change you.”

“I can’t die,” Sam says, and when all he gets in return is a pair of sullen honey-brown eyes he simply knows, “I-I can’t… die.” His few, precious remaining friends were mortal. They would die. He was forever but they would die. He would have them for a few decades, a few precious, short years, and then they would die. He would have them for a blink of time and then they would die, and he would be alone.

“Not completely,” The archangel replies, his eyes now staring forward, “You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend, hell, to anything for a while, Sammy. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

 

 

 

 

 

**September 18, 2008**

 

 

 

 

 

A silver knife, a flask of holy water, a salt round. And it’s all from the Bobby Singer’s own dining room table, so the seasoned hunter can trust that they are real, the right tests. It’s a smart move. It’s a Dean Winchester move, but there were countless monsters that could imitate their hosts or choices of copycatting.

“Show me,” Bobby says, no sentimentality present.

Dean starts with the holy water. He opens the flask, splashes some across the front of his chest, then takes a healthy slug for good measure, gurgling it and swallows it. He then uses the knife to slice into the salt round, grabs a few grains out which he rolls between his pinched fingers, then presses against the soft inner skin of his lower lip then swallows. Next comes the silver knife. He draws the blade across the back of his forearm and nothing happens, and it makes Bobby’s hands shake.

“Dean,” Bobby grunts out at last, his narrowed eyes slowly starting to ease into softness.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Dean pants out, clearly exhausted. Bobby fists his hands in Dean’s jacket, pulling him into a crushing hug as both arms held him tight. The younger hunter closed his eyes, feeling relieved as he patted the latter’s back, holding him with just as much ferocity.

“It’s—It’s good to see you, boy.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“But… How did you bust out,” Bobby chokes out, confusion flashing the relief from his features.

“I don’t know. I just, uh… Just woke up in a pine box in the middle of nowhere, with what looks like a nuclear fallout around me,” He shakes his head, running a hand through his dirt and sweat tinged hair, “I-I don’t know.”

“That don’t make a lick of sense,” The older man responds, leading him into the living room both attempting to dodge large piles of books.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re preaching to the choir,” Dean snorts, shaking his head.

“Dean, your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop, and you’d been buried four months,” Bobby made a look of disgust as he continued, “Even if you could slip out of Hell back into your meats…”

“I know. I should look like a Thriller video reject.”

“What do you remember?”

“Not much,” Dean avoids the seasoned hunter’s eyes as he states, “I remember I was a hellhound’s chew-toy, and then lights-out. Then I come to six feet under. That was it,” Bobby sits down as Dean utters, “Sam’s number’s not working. He’s, uh — He’s not…”

Bobby flinched, almost as if that was the question, he’d been dreading all along. The seasoned hunter let’s out a shaking breath, running a hand over his bearded face. “About a month ago there was a hunt, i-in Waterbury, Connecticut. Four demons,” His eyes start to redden, and he clears his throat, “Sam said he’d handle it, but then he never called back in and… They found Sam hours later, impaled to a tree. T-they think he was ambushed. He had little to no chance alone. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” It was all Dean could say, so he repeated it, more insistent this time, “No, no… No!”

As much as he tried to hold it in, the pain came out like an uproar from his throat in the form of a silent scream. The beads of water started falling one after another, without a sign of stopping. He hit the wall and tried to scream, but his voice was melted by the strangled sounds coming from his throat. The muffled sobs wracked against his chest.

“…. _Sam_!”

 

________

 

Sam Winchester pulled off his soiled jacket and set it on the table, ignoring his archangel companion’s wolf whistle, and proceeded to wipe off the demon knife on the jacket, streaking the material red. The deserted warehouse was a typical Winchester's choice for private activities such as these: spacious, empty and far away from eavesdropping neighbors. The floor was littered with an array of trash and nonsensical rubbish left by the destitute who had taken the place as a makeshift home there in the past. The walls were peeling and laden with mildew, the wooden cladding beneath poking through several different gaping tears.

"I don’t know where that bitch is…please…stop," The demon rasps through chapped and torn lips, his voice drowned out by the blood bubbling in his mouth,” Lilith is too far up on the food chain—A grunt like me… never…”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, his lips puckered on yet another massive sugar-risen confectionary he’d stolen from their lost stop at a local gas station. Three sticks were already tucked daintily behind his ear, his boredom evident by the number of lollipops he was sucking through with every passing minute. Sam was obviously not amused, considering in the weeks he’d been with the archangel a personal goal of his was to try and get him to cut back on the sugar, with little to no success thus far.

Gabriel pulled the fourth stick from his mouth with no signs of the colored crystal left on it, so he sighed dramatically and tucked it behind his ear. Letting out a long drawn out groan, he turned to his companion and remarks, “We’ve gotten all we can out of him, Samshine. Let’s just do away with him so we can move onto the next lead and stop wasting our oh-so-precious time,” He motions towards the incapacitated demon, “You’ve been practicing enough, you are more than prepared to do this, end him, now.”

“I know,” The confidence is Sam’s voice is evident, and the archangel can’t help but feel a swell of pride in his chest. He had his own goal in place to make use of his time with Sam Winchester, to make the moose stop doubting himself and his capabilities, and unlike Sam, he’d been successful with his own goal.

The ever-present slouch Gabriel had become accustomed to disappeared as Sam lifted himself up to his full towering height, he extended his arms with his shoulders rolling in their sockets, oblivious to the subtle sparks of energy that lit up in his palms and underneath his shirt, and when Sam opened his hazel hues the air crackled with the same power. He flicked his hand, and black smoke poured from the man’s mouth, settling like a dark, seething cloud onto the ground below his feet.

“Good, Sammy, steady—You are in control, you will always be in control if you keep your concentration,” Gabriel coaches, hovering just over the taller man’s shoulder, “Now take it in, consume its power. Take control!”

He heeded the archangel’s words, closing his eyes again, and took in a deep breath. There were too many demons to fight—hunting alone would never be enough—and he had to kill Lilith, avenge his brother. He had to. Sam delved into that dark place within him that had been fueled by the demon blood force fed to him at birth and started to reach out to the demon in front of him.

The black smoke billowed into the air once more, heading towards Sam’s parted lips as he motioned with his hand. The demon’s true form quivered and fluctuated, trying to flow in the opposite direction, but the telekinetic pull of the youngest Winchester’s powers was far too powerful. The smoke thinned and pushed into Sam’s gaping mouth, spiraling in like a dry Kansas tornado in August, but there was no flash of black eyes to signal possession; his human skeleton lit up like a Christmas tree, just for a moment as the demon’s powers absorbed into Sam’s meatsuit.

Gabriel watched this ensue with a cold resolve and crossed his arms over his torso. “Sam, are you in control,” He continued warily, setting a gentle hand on the latter’s forearm,” Sasquatch? Is that you?”

Feeling satisfied, and utterly spent, Sam ever so slowly nodded his breath coming out in heavy pants. Despite his low energy he felt elated. Weeks of practice had not been all for naught; he’d consumed the spawn’s twisted, corrupted soul and taken in its powers with ease. A small smile lit his face, and paired with his disheveled state, he did not look entirely sane. He slowly made his way back to the car, if the archangel had taken care of the meatsuit the spawn had left behind.

Without warning, as soon as Sam reached the car and took out his keys, Gabriel stopped him, turned him around by his shoulders, and grabbed Sam. He shoved Sam back against the door and kissed him. His hands fisted in Sam's shirt and he pulled him against him as he pressed him back against the night cooled Impala. It was a kiss full of want, full of not wanting to do what he did, wanting to keep what he had. Sam kissed him back with less force, allowing the archangel to take that from him because that was what he needed now—Reassurance.

“I’m me,” Sam breathes between the kiss.

“I know.”

 

_______

 

The Astoria was certainly not a “chocolate on the pillow" hotel. The receptionist smelled of stale perfume and the tables had used ashtrays with still fuming cigarettes in them instead of flowers. It was dingy, dark, and cheap. Perfect. Gabriel kept his sunglasses on and said nothing as the key for room 207 was dropped into the lines of his hand. Sam being the prima-don-a he was with his new “male-model” hair as the archangel had good naturedly nicknamed it, immediately shut himself away in the bathroom.

The first thing Sam noticed was the utter fairness of his skin, a parchment like paleness that was unusual as he remembered his once gentle tan. It then struck him that his skin was more than just pale; it was untarnished in every way, not a single spot of acne or even a freckle. He tried to look past it as he picked up his coarse brush and ran it through his shoulder length long hair that curled up at the ends. He had always prided himself on his deep chestnut locks, but now the color looked too flawless, not a single discoloration in the strands or even a split-end. He frowned as he put the brush down on the counter.

The human (though he was starting to question the subject of his humanity) didn't want to see these obvious signs that something was different, that something about him had drastically changed. Unlike demon blood, consuming the entirety of the demon itself didn’t leave him reeling for another hit, if anything it left him feeling satisfied and full like he’d just indulged in the most exquisite of feasts. But he knew that in the weeks since he’d been taken under Gabriel’s wing, his mind and body had been altered in ways that simply weren’t… human.

Picking up his coffee cup, Sam took a drink of the tasteless brew, leaning against an old dresser. The motel’s coffee maker was sub-par, but he would manage as he always had to. It was then, of course, that Gabriel decided to continue their earlier session, so the stubborn, horny archangel grabbed the back of Sam’s head, pulling his face closer to his own and gripped tight, clenching his fingers in the long dark strands of his hair, soft and thick in his hands. He pulled back and and lifted his chin, pressing his mouth to the curve of the human’s lips.

Sam's fingers eagerly worked at the buttons of his shirt. Getting frustrated, Gabriel pulled the article of clothing open, popping buttons, sending them pinging off the counter, floor and walls, and he didn’t seem to care as he grabbed Sam by his hips and wrapped the larger man around him. Of course, Sam could never be man handled due to his staggering height, but Gabriel showed off his strength as he picked Sam up with ease, lips still on him, and unceremoniously threw him onto the queen-sized bed.

"Do you want this? Because I swear to pop-pop, I won’t stop until your legs are quivering and the neighbors are very well aware of my name,” Gabriel growls into Sam’s ear as he straddled his hips, “Do you want it, Bullwinkle?”

“Gabe, I want,” Sam says, trailing off with a moan.

Gabriel plants kisses along Sam’s jaw and neck until he can bury his face in Sam’s hair. “What do you want, Sammy? I’m not a mind reader, technically.”

“Want you inside,” Sam says, and wraps his long, muscular legs around the latter’s waist, pulling him against his hips harder,” Fuc-“A hard rapping on the door startled him as he jolted against the archangel’s hips.

“I probably should have waited for the pizza to get here, before I started foreplay,” Gabriel says with a shrug, climbing off his now seething lover. He tried to laugh it off but was meet with a hard pillow to the face, “What, I didn’t want bloated and gassy sex! And I mean it was probably for the best, seeing as I do not have any protection on my person now, so unless you’re up for parenthood— “

“Just go grab one from my bag, I’ll get the pizza,” Sam groans out, rolling onto his stomach seeing that he wasn’t going to be getting any form of sexual satisfaction for a while. He went towards the door, grabbing his wallet from his still loose jeans, and the banging on the door become more insistent. “Alright, alright!”

He opens the door, not even bothering to look up as he counts bills into his palm. He carefully slides his wallet back into his jean pocket and looks how with a friendly smile. “How much was… t-that— “His voice halted and his eyes widened in shock as his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously up and down, his breath becoming sporadic and heaving.

“Hey ya’ Sammy.”

Sam Winchester’s eyes were trained on his brother as if he were some sort specter, his heavy eyelids a fraction too slow to blink, his irises too stationary. It was as if his brain was suffering a massive short circuit and was struggling to compute. Gabriel moved into his line of sight, touching his cheek with the side of his thumb, his lips forming a pensive line.

“Hey,” The archangel utters,” Hey, look at me, Sam. Sam. Look. At. Me.”

Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer are frozen at the doorway of the hotel room. Their boots mid-stride, and their mouths still agape as if they were about to speak. Sam was suddenly immensely grateful for the archangel, who had frozen the two in time, giving him enough time to collect himself. Gabriel had stepped in front of the two, but due to his less impressive height he only managed to cover their necks and below.

Sam’s head tilted upward to his face, his eyes sliding into focus. “Is it him,” His voice is trembling, yet he continues, “Is it really him because if it is—That means the first seal is— “He feels sick.

Gabriel turns around pressing two fingers against Dean’s forehead. After a moment of two he takes a sharp intake of air, and slowly nods. Sam’s breath hitches, and before he can even open his mouth his back hits the wall, and he slides down slowly. But, oddly enough, the archangel is still examining his brother.

“He’s been branded,” Gabriel declares running his hand down Dean’s exposed arm. A large handprint is burnt into the skin of the left deltoid, “Another angel raised him from perdition, only confirming our worst fears. Your brother shed blood in Hell, he’s broken the first seal.”

Sam grits his teeth, not liking the accusing tone in his companion’s voice. “If he’d known… He would have never— “

“It’s doesn’t matter now,” Gabriel cuts off, his eyes narrowed dangerously, “The seal is broken, so now we’re on the clock, Sam. We need to find the angel that resurrected him. This is not something we want to be kept in the dark on.”

Sam nods and sets to packing his things. He was frantically disarranging his neat pile of clothes, tucked carefully into the dresser drawer. He grabbed a fistful of shirts and threw them into the waiting duffel beside his feet. Then he suddenly halted, running his shaking fingers through his mess of hair as he breathed erratically.

Sam’s fingers tense in the edges of the drawer, as he asks, “What about Dean?”

Gabriel halts, almost as if he was dreading the question. “It’s your decision,” He states, “You know what’s best.”

“I know, but it’s killing me right now. I'm scared," The hunter confessed. "I can face ghosts, zombies, demons, fucking angels, whatever. I can take that, all of it. But leaving my brother behind… this is killing me."

“Come on. I know you’re scared. A lot of times you feel like a little boy in a big guy’s body,” The archangel reassures, “But here’s the dirty little secret: Fear is good. It keeps you from becoming a shitty person. Trick is you just can’t let it paralyze you. But don’t you worry about a thing, there, Sammy,” He continues examining the burn on Dean’s shoulder,” OIAD MONASCI OI Castiel.”

“Enochian,” Sam infers, “Who is Castiel?”

“Castiel,” Gabriel smiles, “Is an old friend. An incredibly old friend, I knew him as a fledgling. Perhaps, he may be able to help us discover what the angels are planning.”

Sam nods and finishes packing, “I want to say goodbye to him first,” The archangel opens his mouth to object, but the human cuts him off, “It’s the least I can do for him. This may be the last time I ever see him, Gabe, and even if it’s not… If we do meet again, it will not be pleasant.”

“Fine,” Gabriel presses his fingers together, about to snap, “You have one minute.”

“Sammy?” Dean whispers as he unfreezes, “You’re alive, fuck, you’re alive.” And that’s enough of that. Dean fists his hand in Sam’s shirt, ignores Sam’s uncertain flinch as reels Sam in until their chests crash together. Dean wraps his arms around his brother tightly. His real, live, flesh and bone brother. “How the hell are you alive? Bobby said they found you dead—God I thought after all the shit that happened, it’d all been for nothing…”

Sam shuffles his feet, pulls from the embrace, and clears his throat, “Dean I don’t have a lot of time,” He turns and he’s grateful to see that Bobby is still frozen, and his archangel companion has left the room. They’re alone. “And I have a lot I want to say, but… I can’t.”

Dean’s relief turns into confusion, “Sam, what are you trying to say…? Did you do something— “

“Do me a favor, Dean. Don’t try and find out what brought you back. You get in the impala, drive away and never look back, okay? Can you do this for me,” Dean shakes his head not understanding. Sam doesn’t let him reply as he continues, “I have to leave you, Dean, and I can’t let you intervene with what I must do. Just know, everything that I’ve done, everything that I will do… I’ve done for you.” The wind shifts, and he’s gone.

 

 

 

 

 

**September 19, 2008**

 

 

 

 

 

Sam Winchester pushed his breakfast away. With butterflies in his stomach and his head buzzing with possibilities, there was no way on Earth he'd swallow a bite, let alone a whole plateful. Gabriel eyed him strangely, before turning back to the various herbs he has arranged on the coffee table. The archangel has a large volume written in Enochian, the language of the angels, and is now scribbling things down on a notepad.

 

“You need to eat,” Gabriel insists, pointing his pen at the latter’s takeout box.

“I can’t,” Sam responds, now using his fork to pick at a mushroom on his omelet, “There’s too much going on. I don’t think I can stomach anything. Hell, I haven’t been able to keep anything down for the past few days.”

Sam knew, he knew that he was changing; his appetite and thirst was slowly starting to ween away. What truly startled him, or what should have startled him, was that he was losing the part of him that made him, well, him. His empathy. After what he did to his brother, he should feel something, anything, but he doesn’t… feel. He didn’t like what he was, but he was so lacking emotionally right now. Too much pain, too much suffering.

Something flashed beneath the surface of the archangel’s expression and the hunter hurried to investigate the sudden shift. It was too late, the emotion disappeared before he could identify it, like reaching desperately for an escaped balloon; the string dangling so tantalizingly close but the wind pushed it away and it's lost forever.

The archangel sighs, setting down the book, “Look, you pretty obviously have short-circuited, can’t say I blame you after everything that’s gone down,” He motions to the couch, “Because the odds of us actually winning this thing are roughly on a par with me finding the Loch Ness monster in the bathtub. But you’ve got to remember, Sammy, there’s always a chance, okay?”

The hunter looked up, his expression bemused, “Are you giving me a pep-talk?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to be more of a positive influence on you,” He grins, readjusting the book in his lap, “Besides, it’s hard to focus with your— “

Sam moves his head closer to the latter. Gabriel sits frozen, from both confusion and excitement. The hunter leans in, so his forehead rests against his. They close their eyes. Both their breaths are shaking.

“Thank you," Sam says in barely more than a whisper.

“For what?" Gabriel replies, his voice low and husky.

“For being you,” The hunter’s voice wavers, exhilarated from the tension between them, “Despite, everything—You always manage to comfort me, even when you don’t know…”

Sam gently leans in and kisses Gabriel’s warms lips. They pull apart and take shaky, shallow breaths. Unable to contain themselves anymore, Gabriel holds Sam’s head in his hands and pulls him into a fiery and passionate kiss. The archangel’s hands work their way around his much larger body, feeling each crevasse, each line along his perfect physique; they both stumble to the couch. Sam lies on his back as he matches his body's form.

Gabriel kissed him and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below his ear, his thumb caressing his cheek as their breaths mingled. Sam ran his fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and he could feel the beating of his heart against his chest. They pull apart and open their eyes. They stare at each other, deep into each other's eyes

“What do you want me to say,” Gabriel asks softly, his champagne-colored hues lax with empathy, “I know what’s happening to you, I know you’re changing, but what can I say to…” The archangel was an emotionally constipated bastard, he knew that.

Sam shakes his head, “Nothing. You don’t have to say a thing, just…”

No other words were needed. Gabriel nods in understanding, gently wrapping his arms around him as he presses his cheek to the side of Sam’s head, cradles the nape of Sam’s neck in his palm. This was a first, usually their embraces were brief, not an ounce of sympathy behind them, just an object of their list. No, this was not lust, it was something deeper, something that didn’t pertain to the bodies—Something that both felt, but neither were going to admit it.

They were both emotionally constipated bastards.

 

_______

 

 

With the spell written down and all the ingredients gathered, the two had decided to summon the angel Castiel in an old warehouse. Sam was on his hands and knees, spray painting various Enochian symbols on the floor, and he tried to paint them as precisely as possible. Gabriel was placing the ingredients in a large golden bowl, and was checking them off as he watches Sam.

“I like seeing you on your hands and knees,” Gabriel chirps, his eyes dancing over his companion’s bent-over ass. All he got in reply was a disgruntled snort, the dick even had the audacity to turn the other direction to deprive the archangel of the sight.

“Look,” Gabriel tried to reason, his hands up, “Angels aren’t exactly… friendly towards humans. In the nicest words possible, they are dicks. Great. Big. Fucking. Dicks— “

Sam Winchester objected, standing up, “Gabe, I’ve never had the opportunity to meet another angel. Besides, if we’re going to be allies, shouldn’t I get to meet him?”

“Sam, angels are like chocolates,” The archangel explains, his eyebrow raised, “If chocolates were bastards. Bastard coated bastards with bastard filling,” Seeing the hunter’s unconvinced stare, he continues with, “You will get to meet him, okay? Just, just let me talk to him alone first, okay?”

Sam still seemed unsure, but conceded,” Alright, damn it, alright… Just keep me updated, okay,” He presses a soft kiss to Gabriel’s lips, “We’ll meet up again later, and maybe…”

“Hold the phone: are you suggesting that if I sleep with you, that I won’t have to deal with problems like this,” Gabriel teases his companion, making Sam flush, “Because I’m seriously considering taking that hit. I mean, honestly, what are you like in post-game? Is there spooning? Because I don’t spoon, I’m not a spooner.”

”You’re just pissy because when we spoon, you’re the little spoon- “

“I like being the little spoon, for your information- “

“As if you have a choice in the matter… I’m nearly a foot taller than you. I’d love seeing you try and spoon me— “

Gabriel snorts and starts going through the various herbs and other ingredients on the floor around him; blood of the summoner, acacia, and oil of Armelin. He then lights six candles positioned on four Enochian symbols, spray painted on the cement floor with white spray-paint. Slowly, he runs the dagger over his hand and watches as blood splashed into the bowl below.

“Out,” Gabriel orders his companion.

Sam continues to make his way out, letting out an annoyed grunt as his pocket vibrates. He was immensely grateful that he’d turned off his ringer, he’d had enough of his companion changing his ringtone to various annoying songs, “Heat of the Moment” by Asia being one of his favorites, thus far. It was an unknown number, but he answered it anyway.

“Sam, bloody, Winchester,” A posh, crisp British accent greeted Sam.

“Who the hell is this,” Sam said, just a hint of agitation in his voice, “How did you get this number?”

“Name’s Crowley,” The voice replied, “And no need to wonder where I got your number, I have it and that’s what matters, darling.

“You’re calling for a reason, Crowley,” Sam growled, emphasizing the stranger’s name, “What do you want?”

“I’m looking to make a business transaction,” Crowley said. There was the muffled sound of someone struggling and the man’s faint voice saying, “Speak up. Your baby brother is listening and needs to hear you... loud and clear.”

“Fuckin’ bmisish dhick—!” The owner of this new voice was obviously gagged, “Sammy!”

Sam’s breath hitches and he feels his heart speed up, “Dean!”

“I’m okay,” Dean spat, someone must have removed the gag, “Tied up s’all. But Sam, don’t come for me— “

“I think you’ve gotten the idea,” Crowley cuts off, “I have no ill-will with this uncivilized arsehole you call a brother. All I want, is to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

The hunter closed his eyes, and repeated, “What do you want?”

“As I said before; we have business,” He replies, his voice emitting a cockiness, “I have heard much about you, why, you’ve become the hottest topic at the demon water-cooler. And I believe we have some... common enemies. Nothing brings two people closer than the mutual hatred of other people.”

“You’re a demon,” Sam replies, his tone one of disgust, “Tell me, Crowley, why shouldn’t I just kill you where you stand? If you know me, you know what I am, what I’ve become… Why shouldn’t I just tear you apart from the inside and take what fuels your battery. Surely, since I’m “the talk” you’ve heard about what I’ve done to your buddies,” He smiled, “It’s become almost too easy. And I only get stronger each time.” There it was, the part of him that was making him question his own humanity.

“Oh, Sam,” Crowley replies mockingly, “As if you’re one to turn down any sort of help. From what I hear, you’re desperate for some other options. Especially with some certain... feathery issues starting to appear, if you catch my drift as the kids say.”

“Maybe. Where do you have my brother?”

Crowley hums softly, “I will text you the address when we finish this lovely conversation. But I don’t want any other problems to worry about,” He trailed off, his voice going low, “Come alone.”

“So, I talk to you, and Dean . . .”

“Returns to you, safe. Not a hair on his pretty, little head harmed.”

Sam gripped his phone, “How do I know you’re not lying through your teeth?”

“You don’t for sure, but we demons lie a lot less than you hunters pretend,” Crowley responds, “You would know that, wouldn’t you, Sam? After all, we demons are like your second cousins,” He continues, “Bottom line. We talk, I give you your brother, and we both walk—You keep that sweet little threat from earlier just dirty talk.”

“Alright,” Sam hesitated, “But, what if I don’t like what you’re selling, what happens if I don’t take your deal?”

“Sam,” Crowley said lightly, “We may have to make some negotiations, but as I said before; I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“...Okay. We’ll see.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Crowley said and hung up the phone, “I’m looking forward to meeting the infamous Sam Winchester.”

Gabriel threw a match into the bowl, watching as it set fire to the contents inside. At first nothing happened, and then the entire building began to shake, the very structure was trembling as dust floated down into his hair. With an annoyed snort, he ruffles his hair and combs his fingers through it. Then, all the lights in the warehouse begin to shatter, glass and sparks flying. As the light begins to fade a single figure begins to emerge.

The angel’s vessel is of average height, but much to Gabriel’s frustration, he is taller than him. He had dark, messy “sex-hair” as he always liked to call it. It should have been too dark to get a good look at them before, but his eyes were seriously blue. Almost sickeningly blue—full on Prince Charming, field of cornflower, perfect, cloudless sky blue. Someone should name a crayon after the guy. From behind his trench coat, on the wall behind him, the angel’s wings unfurled—Dark, only shadows on the wall.

The angel cocks his head to the side, “Who are you? I do not recognize you brother?”

Gabriel opens his arms wide, a smile spreading to his lips, “It’s been a while Cassie,” He winks, “I’m back.”

“…Gabriel.”

 

_______

 

 

 

 

 

Sam Winchester made the trip in a little over three hours, pulling into the driveway just as the sky began to darken. A large flashing neon-red sign that read ‘The Velvet Room’; he’d been invited to a night club. Sam could see more lights flashing from the large building’s one entrance, and as he walked towards, he saw a large man holding a maroon, velvet sack with golden ties. The man shoved the sack into Sam’s arms and grunted out, “Go change, then go to the back room. He’ll be waiting.”

The hunter, wary and knowing he needed to cooperate, took the velvet sack. He made his way to the bathroom near the entrance, and quickly changed into the clothes in the bag. A navy-blue V-neck with a black leather jacket, and tight black jeans with a pair of black shoes. Sam scowled, examining himself in the mirror before letting out a snort.

“I look like I’m going to a late night showing of The Crow,” He snorts again, and adjusts the jacket.

The club is dark save for the flashing lights on the stage and near the dance floor. It was like dancing on the Northern Lights; beneath the dry-ice smoke swirled an array of blues, acid greens, hot pinks and gold. The music played over the dance floor as if had fused with the bodies. Men and women alike are gyrating about, flailing wildly to the pulsing music. “Hell, Yeah” by KMFDM is blaring over the speakers. They're all drunk and high on experimental drugs.

Several girls, all in tight dresses that made their breasts push up, and their asses amplified; they danced slowly, they were practically undressing him with his eyes. The girls continued their dance, and to the hunter every movement was full of poetry. They advanced, retreated, pirouetted, their arms waving from side to side above their heads, their heads swaying, their garments fluttering, their swift turns hiding their features, yet seeming to show glimpses of dark, oil-spills for eyes beyond. Demons; every single damn one of them.

Sulfur is rank in the air; the smell burns deep in his nose. He attempts to subtly adjust his tight jeans. They're extremely uncomfortable, but he has no other choice but to wear them. Crowley obviously didn’t want him sticking out like a sore thumb in the club’s nightlife. His usual attire, usually composed of many layers, did not suit the atmosphere this place elicited; ambiance, hazes, and a hint of lust.

After some time, Sam notices two medium-sized doors near the bar open. Out steps a beautiful, yet intimidating raven-headed woman in an all-black pant suit that's just a little too tight. Out of all the other women here, she immediately stands out in the room, eyes as dark as her suit. She is accompanied by one brawny man in all black. A demon meat-head, he presumes.

“Sam Winchester,” She walks straight up to him, offering her hand as she says, “I’m Cecily. Crowley’s associate.”

“Pleasure,” He grits out, ignoring the hand.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Cecily purrs, taking no notice of his rude gesture, “I have heard much about you, and I see the rumors are true. I wonder if all of them are true…” Her eyes rake his body, and she bites at her lip.

Sam feels his cheeks flush, he is never comfortable being the center of attention. “So,” He swallows, and asks, “Are you taking me to Crowley?”

“Eager,” The woman smiles, touching his shoulder. Her hand is small against it, and her nail polish matches her suit, “Follow me.”

Cecily turns on her blood-red high heels, the only varying color with her outfit, signaling Sam to follow her. She leads him through the doors, and the man guides them further into the room. As he walks into the room he feels as if he’s walking into a palace throne room. The throne is a high back chair made of a deep oak finish with a red velvet cushion. The throne sits at the top of a three stepped platform which just adds to the prestige of power that one would feel. The rest of the room looks to be the same as the rest. No windows, many tapestries hang from the walls as well as a crackling fire to warm the room, while low lights keep the rest of the room dim.

The man he assumes to be Crowley sits on the throne, he is a man of average height, slightly round with dark hair and light skin. He’s wearing an expensive, no doubt dry cleaned suit and is holding a long, winding chain that reached to the other side of the room. In the corner, where the chain extended, was his brother, Dean Winchester. He didn’t seem harmed, just extremely pissed, and obviously humiliated at the fact he was chained like a rabid dog.

Dean’s eyes landed on Sam, and they went from dangerously narrowed to relieved, to dangerously narrowed again. “What the hell are you wearing,” He questions, a snort escaping him, “You look like a biker Ken doll.” He grunts as his chain was yanked.

“Shut up,” Sam hisses.

“Sam Winchester,” Crowley said by way of greeting, “Punctual, please, come in.” His eyes lingered on the Sam for a moment, and he cocked his head as if examining a product.

“Did you pick the outfit,” The younger Winchester asks, walking closer.

“I did, actually,” Cecily chirps, slapping Sam’s ass as she makes her way to the side of the throne, “And I was right. You do have quite the perky little ass. I just want to pinch it- “

“Cecily,” Crowley says, clearly exasperated, “Would you and Brutus please excuse us? I believe the Winchester brothers and I have much to discuss.”

Cecily pouts, but motions for the large meat-headed demon to follow her back out the double doors. As she sashays away, she turns to Sam one last time and winks. Dean sees this and shoots Sam another glare, giving another yank at the chain around his neck. Crowley sighs and tugs right back, making the older Winchester fall into a heap.

“You all good, Sammy,” Dean asks, his face still on the floor.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam said, his voice starting to waver, “You?”

“Everyone’s fine and dandy,” Crowley said as he twirled the chain’s end between his fidgeting hands “Well, most of us, anyway. You’re looking a bit pale, Sam, perhaps a little dead in the eyes.” His voice made it clear he knew exactly what he was talking about.

His brother eyed him now, his gaze cautiously curious. “Sam.”

“Can we just do this, please?” Sam said tersely. He was not favoring the gleam in the demon’s eyes.

“Of course,” Crowley states, his lips parting to reveal a hyena like smile, “But first, let me satisfy my ever-growing curiosity. Just what are you now?”

“Sam- “Dean grits out again.

“You’re clearly not human,” The demon continues.

It’s horrible, watching distrust and wariness slowly made its way into his brother’s eyes. He had years of experience in hunting, a profession that trained individuals to be wary of anything that was not considered to be human, he clearly wasn’t going to let this pass. Sam winced and tried to stop Crowley’s inquiring, before he made this much, much worse.

“But, you’re not a demon,” Crowley inquires, his voice going low, “No matter, I can see the subject is making you uncomfortable. Now, in good faith, I’ll send your brother over first. Once you are content that he’s safe, we talk.”

The demon snaps, and the chain around his brother’s neck disappears. Sam quickly pulls out the impala’s keys from his leather jacket’s pocket and shoved them into his brother’s hand. Dean flinches, and he stares at Sam like he’s got lobsters crawling out of his ears. The younger Winchester swallows thickly, he can’t deal with his brother right now.

“Go,” Sam says softly.

Dean hesitates, but then his eyes go over his brother’s skin that is far too pale. His eyes that Crowley had, so accurately described – Dead. They looked cold, callous like a predator set on catching its prey with no fear of another missed meal. God, just what had his baby brother gotten himself into during his absence? The older Winchester clenches the keys in his hands and makes his way out of the room to the car.

“I kept my side of the deal,” Crowley said coolly, “Now it’s your turn.”

“Talk, then,” Sam responds, trying to keep his voice emotionless.

“I want you to cut the head off the snake,” The demon purrs, “Kill Lilith.”

“Okay,” The hunter laughs coldly, “And why, pray tell, would you want Lilith dead?”

Crowley smirks, suddenly materializing in front of Sam. “Sam,” He says, his tone a tad bit annoyed, “Surely it’s obvious, even the slightest bit clear,” Seeing his confusion, the demon scoffs, “If you’re the smart one, I fear just how much of a moron the shorter one is.”

Crowley continues, “Anyway, it’s called survival of the fittest, darling. In this case, I am not the fittest, but what Darwin never talked about… was the things that feed off the fittest to survive.”

“You’re comparing yourself to a parasite,” Sam inputs, his eyebrow raised.

“In a way,” The demon responds, “But, the thing is Lucifer isn’t a demon, remember, he’s an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him you’re just filthy, backstabbing bags of puss. That’s the way he feels about you,” He makes his way to his desk, and pours two glasses of scotch, “What could he think about us?”

“But he created you,” The hunter points out, taking one of the glasses.

“To him, we’re just servants. If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind, we’re next,” Crowley states, his voice grim as he downs his drink, “So, let me help, huh?”

“…How do you even know about, well, any of this? From what I’ve heard, most of the demons are in the dark about what’s even going down,” Sam says, taking a tentative sip from the glass.

The demon smiles, that same damn hyena smile again, “I don’t like being kept in the dark, moose. And you don’t know this, but I also happen to be Lilith’s right-hand man,” He shrugs pouring himself another glass of scotch, “She mainly keeps me around for business purposes, and a fuck every so often. I did sell my soul for an extra couple of inches on me- “

“Augh – I don’t need to be thinking about that,” The hunter groans, “Anyway, so what you’re saying is… You know all about the apocalypse, the seals, Lucifer, everything?”

“Never let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face,” Crowley says with a wink, “The deal: I give you everything I have on Lilith, I serve as a mole of sorts, and I can provide an occasional service with my various connections,” He sniffs, “In return, you end this thing before it can start, and when everything is finished… You leave me be.”

“Okay.” Sam stared at the demon, braced for some sign that the deal was sealed, but the demon just stared back, clearly amused. He didn’t have the patience for this, “Seriously?”

Crowley shrugged, “The decision is all yours, Sammy. Sealed with a kiss.”

Sam smashed his mouth against Crowley’s and tried to jerk away when the demon leaned up into him and started to wrap its arm around his waist. He felt the demon’s hand start to slowly cup his ass, through the tight jeans, and before the hunter knew it, he was shoved against the wall. Sam finally managed to spur some of his demonic strength and shoved him off. He scrubbed his mouth with the sleeve of the leather jacket, fixing a “bitch” face at the chuckling asshole.

“Don’t worry,” The demon says, his chuckles starting to fade, “I never kiss and tell.”

 

______

 

Archangel Raphael, whose name means ‘God heals’, is the archangel designated for physical and emotional healing. When his father breathed life into him, it was his purpose, and it was his father’s will. So, Raphael fixed what was broken; he induced a war when populations grew too much, he sends a plague when hairless apes get too mouthy, he even sent a cleansing flood when sin overwhelmed his father’s last, perfect creation.

“How,” The archangel intones in Enochian, the teeth of his vessel gritted as he stared at the underling at his feet, “How is this even possible? Father made rules for a reason, rules that cannot be broken, so the apocalypse cannot be simply prevented! How is he getting so close to even touching a hair on Lilith’s head?”

The underling swallowed, and chokes out, “We do not know. Lilith is supposed to break the seals, and her confident Ruby was supposed to protect the last remaining "special child" Sam Winchester and prepare him to break the final seal and become the host to Lucifer,” He shakes his head, a head is sweat going down his temple, “Ruby was killed, by one of our own. And since then, all of the plans…”

“Then we make new plans,” Raphael states, his tone making his annoyance apparent, “I want Sam Winchester to be conscious of the fact, that we know of his plans to put a halt on the apocalypse. We shall send him a warning, one and one only, give him a chance to stop this nonsense,” He sniffs, “But, we must find the one that has betrayed us, for it is evident that one of our own is assisting him in strengthening his powers. Send word to all those stationed on Earth.”

“What shall I tell them?”

Raphael smiles, the expression not reaching his emotionless eyes. “Tell them,” His voice is callous, cold, “We cannot kill Sam Winchester, but we can tear him apart, again, and again, and again, until he’s driven mad at the prospect of living a second more,” His smile fades, and his lips become a thin line, “Find the one that has turned against his kind, end them swiftly and quietly.”

 

_______

 

 

“You’re working with Sam Winchester,” Castiel says, his awe-inducing blue eyes narrowed, “The Boy with the Demon Blood?”

“That’s right,” Gabriel replies coolly, “Sammy and me, two of the world’s biggest screw-ups, we’re going to save the world. And I think you ought to feel inclined to help.” He digs a sucker out of his pocket, and tears off the wrapper, sticking it into the side of his right cheek.

“Save the world,” The seraph sneers, “You have no right, no right to ask anyone for help, Gabriel, not after what you did. Much less I,” He eyes the archangel with a persecuting gaze, “You abandoned me, heaven, your family! And for what, t-th-these hairless… apes?”

“Cas,” Gabriel utters.

Castiel’s eyes glow and he fluctuates his grace. “Gabriel,” His voice is deep and commanding, like that of a true soldier of heaven, “Our brothers and sisters came here, and risked their lives to raise Dean Winchester from perdition, to prevent the apocalypse! Many of us have ascended to Earth, to try and prevent the breaking of seals.”

The archangel snorts, popping his sucker from his mouth to point it at the latter. “You’re being duped, little brother.”

The seraph’s head inclined to the side in confusion. “How am I being, I believe the term you used was… duped?”

“You see senior management intends on allowing the 66 Seals to break, in order to bring about the Apocalypse,” Gabriel explains, his tone growing increasingly laced with disgust, “Our brothers and sisters believe that the Apocalypse is God's divine plan that must be carried through and will cause everlasting paradise on Earth. They don’t care what happens to the humans, in fact they haven’t given a damn for a long time.”

Castiel’s eyes are wide, but he shakes his head. “No,” His voice is shaking, “It is our duty to keep watch over the humans that hold dominion over the Earth, as God originally intended.”

“They don’t give a damn,” The archangel exclaims, popping his sucker back into his mouth, “They have finally gotten tired of having to herd the flock, so they’re just going to let Lucifer and Michael deep-fry had the fucking planet! Sam and I, we are actually trying to prevent all of this from happening!”

“Why do you use a word meaning sexual intercourse as an exclamation,” The clueless angel interjects, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Fuck me,” Gabriel groans, rubbing a hand over his exasperate hand over his face, “I forgot how literal halo-heads could be. My point is, I want you to join us, Cas.”

Castiel stiffens, “I will not turn my back on heaven as you did, Gabriel. Besides, how do I know you even speak the truth?”

“Let me give you a front row seat to what I’ve seen,” The archangel takes the latter’s hand pressing it against his temple, “Look in my mind Castiel, see for yourself. I know everything that I know… because I’ve lived through all of this before.”

Castiel hesitates, his eyes flickering from the floor to the archangel’s warm champagne-colored hues. After a moment, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath gazing into Gabriel’s mind. His face twitches, and his lips part to let out a shaking breath as he gasps out,” N-n-no-o-o… No!”

Gabriel keeps his own eyes closed, feeling the seraph shift through the painful memories. When suddenly, the seraph halts at a particular memory; Sam Winchester is pressed against the wall, the tender flesh of his neck exposed as he lets out deep, whining noises from his throat. His shaggy brown hair falls over his eyes as his lush, magenta lips like plump, ripe fruits part and he gasp out, “Gabriel.”

Castiel’s eyes flash open, and his cheeks flush. “Gabriel,” He murmurs, “I… Everything that I saw, that is what the future holds if Sam Winchester does not kill Lilith before the other seals break?”

“Yes,” The archangel’s voice is grim, “I’m sorry that I left you, Cas, but I didn’t want to be a part of the fight.”

“Why are you fighting now then?”

“I found something worth fighting for.”

Castiel’s blush heightens. “I also saw that,” He gulps nervously, “So, you are… intimate with Sam Winchester?”

Gabriel beams, finishing off his sucker with a loud ‘pop’. “Yeah,” He expressed, his eyes twinkling, “I’ve only known him for a little while now, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in his place and then myself.”

“And from what I saw in your memories, since you left heaven you’ve been masquerading as the Pagan god, Loki,” The archangel nods, urging the seraph to continue, “In lore Loki is attracted to larger beings; Svaðilfari the great stallion, Angrboða the giantess, and Sigyn the goddess. I sense that this is more fact than fiction, seeing the younger Winchester’s astronomical height compared to that of your vessel’s.”

The archangel’s smile fades as he scowls. The seraph has a look of innocent curiosity on his vessel’s unshaven face, but Gabriel was not convinced in the slightest. “We’re four seconds in and I’m already regretting my decision,” He quips.

Gabriel walks outside the warehouse, Castiel walking behind him with his trench coat flying behind him in a flourish. The archangel suddenly halts, both of his eyebrows raised as he presses his lips into a thin line. He points at the empty parking spot where the impala had been several hours ago and makes a disgruntled noise.

“That can’t be good – Fuck,” Gabriel shrieks, his eyes landing on a note taped to the warehouse’s door,” Fuck, fuck, shitty-ass fuck… Every time he leaves a note shit hits the fan! For the love of – Fuck!” He grabbed his phone from his pocket and clicked on the contact ‘Cock-Sock’ and brings the phone to his ear as he taps his foot impatiently.

Meanwhile Castiel examined the note. “It says: ‘Had business to take care of. Will pray if assistance is needed.’”

“Hello,” Sam answers at the fifth ring.

“Sam,” Gabriel actually releases an exhale of relief, “Look, you cannot just go gallivanting places on your own with all of the shit that’s going down, and just leave a note! Now, do you care to explain what happened that prompted you leaving on your own?”

Sam sighs on the other end, “Long story short, my brother got kidnapped by the King of the Crossroads, Crowley, and I made a deal for our benefit,” His tone changes from tired to amused, “Were you actually worried about me, Gabe?”

The archangel scoffs, “Listen, I don’t care if you get a message from God himself, complete with stone tablets! Don’t go off on your own, okay?”

“I left a note,” The hunter responds as a-matter-a-factly,” …Look I have to go— “

Before the archangel can object and continue his tangent, his companion has already hung up, “Stupid… cock-sock.”

 

__________

 

 

 

 

 

 

_The kitchen rag runs down the shaft of the machete, tracing the scars, remembering the hunts again and again and again as the emptiness fills the voids in Dean Winchester. He remembers diesel fuel, rusting frames of old cars. Sam smiling, afternoons fixing up the Impala. He would smile, too, a cold beer in hand. Grease and gasoline. He never thought he was happy then, he was such a fool._

_Dean leaned back in the old, splintered chair in Bobby's kitchen table. He shifts, trying to find a position where the hardwood wasn’t digging into his already aching back. His bare, muck ridden feet found their way into the crook of the table’s underside as he took another mouthful of his beer. He slowly lowers the bottle again, his fingers hanging precariously onto its glass sides._

_At the bottom of another drink, Dean let’s out a strangled roar tinged with rage and sorrow. He throws the empty bottle against the wall, the resulting shatter causing glass to spray across the room. Tears threatened but Dean held them back, staring determinedly into the dull lamplight, jaw stubbornly clenching, nostrils slightly flared._

_” Son of a bitch!” Dean bellows, saliva winging its way through the air._

_Bobby Singer runs the room, his entire body tense. The younger man can imagine his expression. Dean has spoken little, and his friend is worried, so he'll try to force it out. The old coot thinks he understands him better than himself, and before, maybe that was true. But now, he’s in the dark; Dean is always unpredictable when going through the stages of grief._

_“Dean,” Bobby barks out, grabbing his shoulders as he gives him a rough shake,” You need to clam down, now! Where the hell have you been?” He breaks him from his broken reverie, snapping him straight back into the present. Air whooshed into his lungs, bringing him back to life. “You’ve been gone for hours-Did you take that hunt—Dean?”_

_"He's dead,” Dean whispered, voice hoarse and cracking. He didn't even try to hide his anguish,” What am I supposed to do?”_

_“Dean – “_

_“I can’t even fucking bury him!” After learning of what had happened to his brother, he’d been determined to give him a proper send-off, only to learn the body had gone missing,” What, what if he’s –“_

_Bobby rubs a hand a tired hand over his face, and says,” Don’t do this to yourself, son. Sam is gone. There was no one to bring him back this time.”_

_“Maybe,” Dean concedes, his mouth a thin line. He stands up and goes for his phone on the counter,” But we’ll see about that. I’m going to have a talk with the guy who sent him on that hunt.”_

“You sure about this?" Bobby Singer questions on the phone, snapping Dean out of it.

“Hell no, I'm not sure about this. But it’s Sam,” Dean trails off, his sharp green hues glancing at the door at his side, “He’s still my baby brother. I’m not doing anything, not until I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but what if what this Crowley says about Sam is true? I just don’t like the idea of you marching right into it," Bobby says, he tries to keep his tone even, but Dean can hear the concern creeping in the edges,” …Sam is like a son to me, but he was gone, damn it! Dead as a door nail, and then his body up and vanishes. And now this, he just suddenly turns up again without a scratch?”

“So, did I,” Dean reminds the seasoned hunter.

Bobby scoffs, “Don’t remind me. I’ve got all my feelers out about that, and I’ve heard zip. But, I may know a psychic we can talk to— “

“He warned me,” The hunter states, “He told me not to look into what brought me back. We’ll leave it be, for now. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Alright,” The seasoned hunter replies, “Don’t do anything stupid, ya idjit.” There’s a soft click signaling that he’s hung up.

Suddenly the night club’s door opens, blaring music and flashing lights greeting the dark night. Sam Winchester waltzes out, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket as he lifts his head to the sky. His lips part and he released a shaking breath, his shoulder length hair billowing in the chilled night wind. Dean stealthy slips behind his brother, pulling his gun from his belt.

Dean cocked his gun and grits out, “Turn around.”

“Why? Can’t shoot me in the back,” Sam says softly, keeping his back to his brother.

“Turn. Around,” The older Winchester’s breath is a snarl, “Christo.”

Sam did, slowly. His eyes were the color of the hazel like autumn leaves, green, blue and striated with flecks of gold. Dean almost expected his eyes to turn black, but it was just his brother’s gaze. Dean’s finger tensed, pinched against the trigger. Yet, it wasn’t because his gaze was sharp, and it burned cold like ice on a northern sea.

Sam held his hands up. “You know you can shoot me if you want. No one’s tried it, but I wouldn’t bet on it working,” He smirks, “A tree root didn’t do the job, so…”

Dean didn’t move his hand. The rest of him didn’t move either. “You were dead,” He said, voice hollow, “Explain to me – what are you, cause you’re sure as hell not – “

“...No, I am not human,” The younger Winchester looks thoughtful as he replies, “But, lately I’ve been trying to convince myself that I still am. Perhaps some part of me still is, but in our line of work that doesn’t exactly matter, does it?”

“Sam,” Dean’s voice sounds strangled.

“I didn’t want you to get involved with any of this, Dean. Believe me on that,” Sam says softly, “And I’m still not letting you, so I’m walking away with you conscious or unconscious. Your choice.”

“Damn it, Sammy. What have you gotten yourself into – “

“Dad always said that if you couldn’t save me, that you would have to kill me,” Sam stipulates, his tone bitter, “You can try.”

Dean swallows thickly, and he adjusts his gun. He fixes his aim, gun still pointed at his brother. At his brother. The hunter slides his gun to the left and pulls the trigger, flinching as the shoot sounds off. The bullet was aimed to lodge itself into his brother’s shoulder, but instead it was being held between his fingers. Nonchalantly, he tosses it over his shoulder, and it rolls somewhere down the street.

“If you’re going to shoot me, you better shoot me dead,” Sam hisses, “No warning shots, or maiming shots – Only kill shots.”

The older Winchester closes his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat as he slowly lowered his gun. Sam doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. The youngest Winchester narrows his eyes, and whispers with a voice like the creaking of gallows, “Didn’t think so.”

Sam flicked his wrist, and Dean yelped as he was flung backwards, crashing into an old dumpster unit that lined the night club’s wall. The hand gun fell from his grasp as he collapsed on the ground, old cardboard boxes and empty glass bottles clattering around him. Darkness pushes in from the sides of his vision, threatening to take his consciousness.

“Sam,” Dean manages to choke out, “Sammy! What did you do? Damn it! _What did you do –_ “

The last thing he saw was his baby brother walking away with only the street lights illuminating his path.

 

 

 

 

 

__________

 

 

 

 

 

 

The road stretches onward, hugging the land, taking each turn in easy stride. It is a grey that has welcomed many suns, become silvery as it soaked in the rays. But it is night at the time, and it is raining. Sam Winchester tries to pull his leather jacket over his saturated form as he wanders in the soft rain, small pellets of water spitting on his hands as the remainder of the drops quench the scattered puddles decorating the asphalt.

Sam walks down the straight road without looking back -- he's so scared if he does, he'll never keep going. Because for a second time, he’d ditched his brother in favor of doing things without him. It's one foot in front of the other for so long, the hunter is not even sure how much time has passed. There is nothing about his person to indicate exhaustion, and he certainly does not feel it, excluding the strange feeling in his lower abdomen.

Sam felt an odd fluttering sensation in his chest and wondered what it meant. Then a roll of thunder seemed to crack the air, as if the very heavens might split apart. It rolled like the ash could of a volcano, becoming a rolling, booming rumble. It declared to all the raw power of nature and gave fair warning of the wrath that was to come. Unbeknownst to him, it was the wrath of the archangel, Raphael.

There was another fluttering sensation in his chest, and then a sound of ruffling feathers. Gabriel appears mere inches from him, his features grim. "The storm's a warning!”

“Nice to see you too,” Sam responds,” …What do you mean a warning?”

"The people upstairs, they’re pissed,” The archangel laughs bitterly as he pulls his companion closer to him, his hand sliding into the curve of his hip,” Raphael, another one of my big brothers, is actually afraid of what we’re doing, and he’s too chicken-shit to come down here himself and do something about it.”

Lightning came, a brilliant shock of white in the graphite sky, forking silently to the unsuspecting ground - the thunderous boom always calling its warning too late. The hunter jolted at the abrupt strike, settling into the body behind him with ease; as the rain started to turn into a downpour around them both. Lightning struck down again, close, only a hundred feet away and Sam suddenly extended his hand towards it.

Gabriel suddenly swats his flat palm against Sam’s outreaching hand, like a mother did when a naughty child acted out of line. “No, Sam, stop it! I know what you’re thinking… And you’re bat shit crazy just for thinking it,” The archangel roars over the downpour, “Come on, we have to get of here – “

“What would happen if I tried to absorb the power,” Sam yells back, “I can absorb the power, the essence of demon’s because I have demon blood in me, so I’m suited to take it in. But what would happen if I tried to absorb that power?”

Gabriel let’s out an aggravated snarl, “You won’t die, but it will slow you down. It’s hard to work when you’re split down to nothing but molecules!”

“A test,” The hunter mutters to himself, gently pushing back against the latter’s touch,” I’m getting stronger, I have to see if I can do this, I could turn the tide – “

“Sam – Don’t you dare… No!” Gabriel’s voice sounds a thousand miles away, a distant whisper in the back of his head as he extends his fingers forward. With that thought, his power leapt up; the power to absorb the power from demons. He strove to take the angel’s power, but he tried to remember Gabriel’s tutelage on control, but the yearning for that feeling of fullness, satisfaction as power ebbed into his veins grew and blossomed.

The lightning strikes again, and it doesn’t feel like the abominable power the demon’s hold with their corrupted souls. No, it’s pure and light, a brightness that fills him until he is filled to the brim yet yearning for me. It’s grace, pure unbridled light that shines so bright. It was the kind of brightness that sears into one’s retinas making one close them for fear of going blind; a brightness that would make fresh snow look grey and dull. It was a brightness to rival the sun itself.

Swaying, Sam reached out to grasp Gabriel’s hands, which were patting at his face. His voice was all but gone from his hearing. Then he felt two hands settle on either side of his face, and the brightness is seeped from his body. All he could think was how inhuman he felt, as his arms dropped away from the archangel’s body, and he slipped down to the soaked road below, every bone in his body aching with weariness.

 

 

 

 

 

**September 21, 2008**

 

 

 

 

 

**Aruba Island, Kingdom of the Netherlands**

 

 

 

 

 

Sam Winchester breathed into the breeze, his eyelids fluttering closed as he breathes in the briny aroma. Scrunching his toes, he feels the softness of the sand, still damp from the retreating tide. He wiggles as a shiver cascades down his spine and his eyes burst open. The sand blurs out in a blissful trance, the shore fading into liquid gold, vivid in the brilliant light.

“Remind me why we didn’t think of this sooner,” Gabriel moans, shifting against Sam. He snaked one hand down into Sam’s swim trunks and started stroking lazily. Sam grunted softly, pressing back against the archangel’s chest. Gabriel smirked and took that as acquiescence, he continued.

With every movement the sand shifted. With every motion forward there was some backward and down, just like walking in fresh fallen snow. Yet unlike the crystalline blanket of white bequeathed by the winter time, the fine grains under foot give the hunter warmth from the sun’s rays. Like their sky-bound benefactor they are yellow, as if the sunshine itself is trapped inside the unmelting crystals of silicone and oxygen.

“Gabe,” Sam blurted, his tone neither enthusiastic nor matter-of-fact,” What are we doing here? I mean, it’s nice and all, but there is…” His voice trailed off as he felt a hot breath on his neck, then the tender brush of lips.

Gabriel’s breath is curling against the skin just above the shoulder as his hands are skating against the smooth skin of Sam’s stomach, occasionally scraping down his side in long scratches. “This is us taking a break, and with the stunt you pulled the other night… Fuck, we need it. If I hadn’t drawn the grace from your body, you probably would’ve been torn apart from the inside out,” He murmurs softly, his fingers still going up and down his sides,” Can we please just enjoy it? Just pretend, even if it’s just for a little while, that we’re not two morons caught in the middle of a war we have no business waging?”

The hunter hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t touch upon the subject again, much to the archangel’s immense relief. “I mean you walked right into an angel smiting; that's a challenge if I ever saw one, so we need to stay low for a bit. But on the bright side you didn’t immediately get blasted into oblivion the second you took all that grace into your body – I guess we’re starting to get a promising idea of your power.”

“…What am I,” Sam’s voice is feeble, he is terrified of the answer,” …I know what I can do. I know that I’m not human, at least not entirely, but what am I? What am I becoming, Gabe?”

“Sammy,” Sam heard the soft, broken whisper of his companion’s voice, so much strained emotion packed into one word,” That’s all you are to me, and all you ever will be to me. The hunter with an ass so tight I could stick a lump of coal up there, and in three hours I’d have a diamond. The only human I know of that’s been more than one-night stand to me…”

“Then what I am I to you?”

“…That remains to be seen,” Gabriel replies, but in truth he didn’t know.

Sam would later recall two particularly important thoughts sticking steadfast in the forefront of his mind during the foreplay into what would ultimately lead to sex on a beach in Aruba. One, he was one hundred percent positive that all five-feet of horny archangel grinding up against him would be over, and most definitely between his thighs and lips tonight. Two, he, like the archangel, did not know just what it was he felt for him, but whatever it was it wasn’t bad; there’s that.

“Too many clothes, have to get rid of all these ridiculous layers covering you up Sasquatch. Nothing in the way of your ass, your thighs," A slow slide of hands down his hips, the gentle scratching at his sides halted, “That sweet, flat belly of yours." Soft hands work quickly, his swim shorts being rucked down, off. Then he copies the movement with his own pair and they’re both already bare, asses on the hot sand.

Sam rolls over onto his back, and in seconds Gabriel is trying to slither in between his lanky, but muscular legs. The archangel slaps his hands down on the latter’s knees and pulls them apart ever so slowly. Gabriel gives a soft laugh until the hunter wriggles his hips against his, friction causing him to sink his face to Sam’s neck and moan. It takes a massive effort to lift his head from the warmth of the gentle strands that cascade just at his heated neck.

“ _Nghh_ – Do we have to do it like this,” Sam mumbles his hands hooking around his companion’s sides, “I don’t want sand riding up my ass.”

Gabriel laughs again, and nudges Sam. The gentle push urged him onto his hands and knees, and the archangel is eagerly taking his position.

“Sam...” The archangel moved his hands from his hips reaching around, delicate fingertips dragging across his nipples. The hunter’s chest shudders as his cock's hardwired straight to the sensitive nubs on his toned pecs.

“Yeah, god yes, just… Gabe,” Sam’s moans are praising,” Please... inside me, now. Gabe, fuck, now.”

Gabriel nods and adjusts his hands to settle on Sam’s hips. They separate long enough for the archangel to grab his discarded trunks, pawing through the side pocket until he finds a small packet of lube. They moan deep and needing while Gabriel works Sam open as gently as he can stand. At last, he rolls his own hips and the latter’s hole seemingly parts for the tip.

Gabriel pushes it in deeper with incremental rolls of his hips, his cock so much hotter than the hunter’s body that he can feel every inch of it sliding in, compelling his insides to open until he’s fully sheathed. The archangel withdraws nearly all the way and then slams back in, setting up a pace that almost halts the moans in Sam. The hunter shudders, his hands digging into the sand beneath his fingers, back arching.

“Fuck,” Gabriel hisses, and he thrusts faster,” God, so good, Sam…”

Sam’s breaths started coming in small pants as he feels the muscles of Gabriel’s arms and chest flex with the exertion of holding himself upright while thrusting forward. Suddenly the archangel did something to him, hit something, moved some way, and his orgasm slammed into him. He came hard onto the moist sand below and he could feel the thrusts slowing, the archangel wasn’t too far behind as he too climaxed with a loud moan.

After going at it three more times, the archangel and the human deemed it wise to move to a different patch of sand. Luckily, they were smart and had chosen a relatively unpopulated part of the beach, but they had managed to scare a couple of the locals half to death with their coitus. Now, they were both lazing on a large blanket, sprawled on their stomachs with their trunks back on as they let the sun settle on their skin.

Sam has a large book propped on a small mound of sand, but Gabriel being not much of an avid reader didn’t really take notice. But he does notice when Sam starts sucking on one of the archangel’s suckers. His eyes go wide for just a second, and he doesn’t take them off Sam. Or his pink, sticky lips; stretched but tight around the sugary confectionary.

“Since when do you like suckers,” Gabriel’s voice is low and husky.

Sam shrugs, lets his companion hear the little ‘pop’ sound as he hollows his cheeks and pulls it out. “Since now, I guess. I’ve been craving sweets. Since when do you give a shit?”

Gabriel smirks,” Since now I guess.”

He is tempted to make three rounds into four, but on the other hand he does not feel like moving to another patch of sand. Not to mention, it didn’t sit well with him to reward the hunter for stealing anything from his stash of candy. The hulking mass of muscle and height needed to stick to his greens, lest his precious sweets be put in danger.

“I think it would do you some good if I took some of these suckers off your hands, Gabe,” Sam comments, his hazel hues bright and full of mirth,” Besides you have some of my childhood favorites; piña-colada, mandarin orange, even blue raspberry.”

“Now listen, even though I am in the best shape of my life — and I am, by the way…I mean, fact of the matter is you could pretty much bounce a damn quarter off my ass, you know, if you,” Gabriel shrugs nonchalantly, snatching the sucker from the latter’s lips, “If you wanted to.”

“…We’re going to have to move to another part of the beach again, aren’t we,” The hunter’s voice is breathless.

The archangel smirks, leaning in for a sweet, sticky kiss,” Definitely.”

Neither of them noticed the flutter of feathers as another angel arrived on the beach. Not until Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly, his bright blue eyes expressing curiosity at the position the two were in. He inclined his head to the side like a puppy. Gabriel yelped and pulled Sam’s thick book over his swim trunks to cover the obvious bulge, and Sam just blushes in embarrassment.

“Castiel, Sam. Sam, Castiel,” The archangel sputters out,” First thing you need to know about this angel, he has a bad habit of popping in at the most unconventional times.” The hunter’s cheeks just turn a deeper shade of red; first time he got to officially meet another angel, and of course, he was making out with his brother on a beach in Aruba.

Castiel doesn’t seem fazed, and simply says,” Sam Winchester. I’ve been told that you are eager to meet me.”

“Y-yes,” Sam stutters, his cheeks turning even redder, “I’ve never met another angel. Gabe, I mean Gabriel, your brother, he’s the only when I’ve ever – _God_ … Shit! Sorry! Sorry.”

Sam suddenly jumps up, rubs his hands on his swim shorts, and offers him his hand as he smiles warmly at him. Castiel turns to Gabriel, a slight frown on his face. The archangel just grins and nods encouragingly at him in return. Castiel hesitates for a second, before taking Sam’s hand in his own and slowly shaking it. Sam’s excited smile grows radiatingly bright, and he grips the angel’s hand tighter and shakes it more eagerly.

Suddenly as if burned, Castiel pulls his hand away, nearly throwing Sam to the ground in the process. Sam stumbles back a few feet, but recovers, looking at the latter with wide eyes. The seraph brings his hand forward for inspection and closes it into a fist as his face twists into one of disgust. The human clenches his fists at his sides, trying to keep a neutral face as the latter faces him.

Castiel spits out in e,” OL ZIR A NOCO DE ELO. PI UNKNOWN APILA PAID, JONAC NATOSA,” He steps closer as he continues,” PI VOL RILA NASOSA NO, PI VOL RILA SANOM NO. TAL VOLOR WEZAD NONIL SOV NAMASOL POLO VASI. PI VINEM VAMIL RANAMALO JILOHAZ SOV POLO.”

“What did he say?” Sam asks softly.

Gabriel shakes his head and makes his way towards Castiel. “NO VASI JADANIPIS TAL PIM,” He barks out, giving the angel a rough shove,” DAZIS VIS RELILAMAMAL FOL JASEMADATAM!”

Gabriel continues barking away in enochian, and every so often Castiel would squeeze a word in. Then suddenly, Castiel nods, and gives Sam a final glance, before there’s a flutter of feathers and he’s gone.

 

 

 

 

 

________

 

 

 

The sex wasn't bad, exactly, because sex with Sam Winchester was always phenomenal compared to every other human, no matter how awkward the location. Gabriel could live without the part where he kept finding sand lodged in every crevice of his body for the next two days. It was always fun to watch Sam shake improbable amounts of sand out of his hair though, and he was always in good mood afterwards, curling up next to the spent archangel under their beach umbrella even while half-heartedly swearing that they would take it to their perfectly nice bedroom next time instead of rolling around on a beach towel.

Then again, their last attempt to have “normal sex” had cost them quite a few pennies. The hunter’s developing powers, the one’s he had no complete control over, made sex on solid objects a hassle. Sure, sand wasn’t much better since every time the archangel would press too hard or hit just the right spot, the sand beneath them would randomly shoot into the air and spray down on them like snow. But at least he wouldn’t owe more money since the bed fiasco…

_Gabriel isn't entirely sure how they make it to their pricy hotel room considering they don't stop kissing and undressing each other, but at some point he’s standing in front of room 66 (it reads 69 since the archangel was an immature jackass) and fumbling the golden key card into the slot while he tries to keep himself curved into Sam’s back, but he has short arms and it’s like trying to reach around a brick wall._

_At last, he managed to curve around the hulking man like freaking a contortionist and get the door open. Without a warning, Gabriel pulled them all the way through the door and all but carried Sam to the bed. The archangel threw the human on the bed and watched him bounce up and back down. The man’s chest heaved in surprise, his breath hard but his eyes still hungry._

_Sam was getting lightheaded from all the kissing, but he didn’t quite realize what was happening as they devoured each other, not noticing the bed slowly levitate into the air. Not until the bed suddenly thudded back down onto the floor when Gabriel’s mouth moved to Sam’s nipple. The two yelped and turned bright red in embarrassment._

_“Shit,” Sam swore as his companion pulled back from the foreplay._

_“Fuck, maybe we need to weigh the bed down?” Gabe suggested._

_“_ So, get this, Crowley just emailed me this link,” Sam says as he walks into the room, his still open laptop levitating in the space around him, “Several hunters have been brutally murdered in the past few days; Olivia Lowry, Carl Bates, Jed, R.C. Adams... According to Castiel maybe even a dozen more.”

Gabriel nods in understanding, “It’s another seal breaking. The rising of the witnesses,” The archangel sighs and curses in enochian,” The bitch is trying to get things underway. Lilith must have cast a spell that released The Witnesses.”

“The Witnesses?”

“The Witnesses are people who have seen, or died at the hands of, supernatural beings. They can be distinguished from normal ghosts by a symbol branded on them,” Gabriel explains as he pulls out a sucker from his jacket,” Once summoned by the proper spells, they act in a manner similar to other vengeful spirits but target a specific person with their wrath. They will kill the individual if they can.”

Sam gulps nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “Wait, but if only hunters have been killed so far that means - Fuck,” He lowers his head into his hands, “The Witnesses are ghosts of people that hunters failed to save.”

“Give the man a prize,” The archangel mutters, giving a hefty suck on his candy, “I take this means that our vacation is over?”

“We have work to do,” The human states, and moves his hand to his suitcase. Clothes lift into the air, swirling in a twister of cloth, before landing unceremoniously in the unzipped bag, “I still need to work on that.”

“Sam... You realize that if The Witnesses are going after hunters...”

Sam closes his eyes, exhaling softly,” I know, Gabe. I know.”


	2. Part 2: Gabriel is Slightly Less of a Dick

**September 21, 2008**

The entirety of the wooden frame is covered in black-painted symbols of diverse types. Dull, yellow lights hang high above Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer’s heads, barely illuminating the wide expanse of the warehouse they’d found. Although Bobby had already completed the ritual, no entity of any kind appeared and it out Dean at unease more than anything.

“Maybe Sam was right,” Bobby murmurs adjusting the shotgun in his hands, “He warned us not to look into what brought you back and look what happened to Pamela! I’m thinking that whatever did piece your sticky bits back together is nothing but bad mojo. And let’s face it – We have no idea what your brother is now, for all we know…” He winced, not even wanting to voice the accusation.

“I know, Bobby,” Dean hisses, running a hand down his face, “Don’t you think I’ve thought about this? But if my pain-in-the-ass little brother got himself into something he can’t handle, I’ve got to be there to back him up. I’m no help if I don’t know what I’m facing.”

“I’m trustin’ you on this boy,” The seasoned hunter responds, his eyes wary as he grips his weapon harder.

The younger hunter let out an exasperated sigh, twirling his knife on the old table beneath him, “Are you sure you did the ritual right,” Bobby inclined his head forward, his features indicating annoyance, “Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?”

The moment the words left his mouth, the building began to shake to its very foundation. The tin slabs that made up the roof rattled and lifted into the air, before banging back down revealing brief glimpses of the night sky. Both hunters stood back to back, weapons raised in defense of whatever thing they’d just summoned.

“Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s just the wind,” Dean quips.

The dim lights exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. Then the doors blast open with a gust of wind, an eerie shadow coming into view. He swivels and turns to meet the ominous shadows, only to find a dark-haired man in a beige trench coat, arms loose by his sides. Both hunters simultaneously shoot at the man, blinking in confusion as the man doesn’t even make a single indication of pain or even annoyance.

Dean grabs the demon-killing knife, circling around the trench coat cladded man as he rasps out, “Who are you?”

“I am the one who gripped you right and raised you from perdition.”

“Yeah,” The hunter snarls, his lip curling, “Thanks for that.” He jabs at the man with his knife, the feeling of flesh and muscle being torn under the blade. His expression of anger subsides as it turns into one of confusion. The man, with his almost curious expression does not bleed, but simply pulls the knife from his breast and lets it fall to the ground.

Bobby panics, making an attack from behind with a crowbar, but the man anticipates this. He grabs the bar, yanking the old man forward like a rag doll, and sets his two main fingers against his wrinkled forehead. The whites of Bobby’s eyes show as he goes limp and slumps down, the man’s gaze following his ascent. Dean gawks at this, his mouth nearly hitting the floor.

“We need to talk, Dean,” The man insists, adjusting his trench coat with utter nonchalance, “Alone. For what you are about to hear is what my companion put as ‘need-to-know’.” He explains, mimicking air quotes. In that instant, all the intimidation this strange man had elicited dissipated quicker than a cheesy poof in the hands of Cartman.

“Your friend is alive,” He reassures, sifting through assorted items that the hunters had set on the table.

“Who are you,” Dean repeats.

“Castiel.”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” The hunter grits out, “I mean what are you?”

Castiel tilts his head like a curious dog, piercing blue eyes staring unblinkingly at Dean. “I am an angel of the Lord,” He states, “And I was sent to you by the archangel Gabriel, concerning your brother.”

“Get the hell out of here,” He utters, his voice going low, “There’s no such thing. Now tell me what the hell Sam – “

“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith,” Castiel explains softly, “Gabriel made it explicit that you would prove to be difficult to convince, much more than your brother. Perhaps if you see, you will believe.”

A crack of thunder in the distance, and the light ballasts forth. The wings of the angelic creature arced high above its gracious head of brown hair. They were made of long, nimble feathers that would make even the mightiest birds of prey turn green with envy. They were dark as the foliage of some wavering thicket, and bathed in shadows, like half-comprehended notions that float dim through children’s brains.

“I came to you because you are in the dark to all of the things at work,” Castiel explains as he slowly sheathes his wings, “And though your brother wishes for it to remain that way, Gabriel and I have deemed it wise to keep you informed. Especially with the role heaven wishes for you to play, it is blatantly obvious that you are needed on our side.”

Dean blinks. He blinks again. Again. “Who the fuck is Gabriel?”

 

 

 

 

________

 

 

 

Sam Winchester was frantically disarranging his neat pile of clothes, that days earlier he had tucked so carefully into his dresser drawer. He grabbed a fistful of shirts and threw them into the waiting duffel beside his feet. Gabriel was taking a much slower approach and was being a childish asshole by grabbing handfuls of Sam’s boxers and cutting them into a range of styles of panties.

“Kinky,” Gabriel comments, examining his latest pair, “You should wear these next time we – “Still holding the mutilated cloth, that now resembled a thong, he made vulgar motions with his hands.

Sam’s face flushed furiously as he snatched up his remaining boxers, before his idiot companion could butcher anymore. The archangel smiles wolfishly and then wedged himself between the hunter’s legs. Sam swallowed hard.

“Is now really the time for this? We should be packed and ready to go by the time Crowley returns with the spell,” Sam stuttered as Gabriel’s hands started working at the zipper for his jeans. The hunter bit back a moan as the archangel reached his hand into his boxers, grazing his already hard cock. The shorter man nuzzled him and pressed a kiss to his clothed thigh.

“What’s goin’ on in that on in that noggin’ of yours there, Sammy,” Gabriel asks, his tone one of dearest as he backs away from the latter’s open legs, “You’re usually not the one to reject a pity blow-job.”

Sam stood, pulling back on his jeans and zipping then in a flourish. He looked down, the other’s shorter stature bringing the top of his head up to around Sam’s nose. “It’s nothing, really. Unbelievably, I’m not in a perpetual state of horniness like you.”

The archangel shot him a mock-offended look. “Come on, this is one of those ridiculously small windows when I’m borderline interested in your life. So, what’s the deal?”

“I-it’s nothing,” Sam deflected.

“Fine,” The shorter man huffs, rolling his eyes as he turns to sift through the dresser’s contents, “But If you need to get something off your chest – _like your shirt_ – I’m here.”

Sam doesn't think to wonder what he's looking for, which makes the bag of joints tossed onto the bed moments later unexpected. He gives Gabriel a sharp look and wonders whether to be impressed or worried. The archangel offers the tiniest of self-satisfied grins and plants one between his lips, before holding a flaming finger to the end. After a moment he takes a deep inhale, and then proceeds to exhale as he goes lax on the bed.

“Relax, it’s not weed,” Gabriel says, “It’s a plant that grows out in the desert by a feathered little dragon’s cave. Considering how much of a nerd you are, I figured you’d be able to identify-“

“Oh, it’s serpens grass,” Sam says examining one of the joints closely, “You realize that this grown from the creature’s shit, right?”

Gabriel shrugs and inhales again. Sam shakes his head and throws the joint into the trash. When the shorter man offers him the already lit one, he shakes his head minutely in reply, and he doesn't press him further. They both look at the door.

“Couldn’t Crowley just use the spell to put The Witnesses to rest,” The archangel murmurs, his upside-down gaze still on the door, “Why should we have to stop our rare but coveted vacation time, when we’ve got a perfectly capable demon lackey?”

“I trust him about as far as I can throw him,” Sam responds with a snort, “Besides, it’s dangerous to take advantage of unpredictable allies in these kinds of situations.”

Gabriel shrugs, and leans across the bed to tuck his hand under Sam’s jaw. The serpens grass is slack between his lips, and his champagne colored hues are starting to redden. Sam’s lips are set in a thin line, his own hazel eyes squinted in the smoky haze. The archangel laughs, the hand on the human’s jaw pulls away and then moves down to his chest, giving a powerful push that makes the bigger man sprawl across the bed.

“Breathe,” Gabriel says, and Sam does.

The smoke floods his lungs, heavy and rich with the warmth and breath of the archangel’s own vessel. He exhales as the smaller man leans away, and he knows that they won't be able to hide from their problems in the smoke forever, but like the vacation it was just an effortless way to have a temporary escape. He doesn't know how high he'll have to be before he quits caring all together.

“The seals are going to keep breaking” Gabriel murmurs. He shotguns a second hit into Sam’s mouth, and doesn't pull away, “Until we kill Lilith. But we’re not going to be any help if we’re so wound up, we can barely function, are we? So just... _breathe_.”

Sam breathes out through his nose and closes his eyes against the smoke and reality. Their proximity is a simpler pleasure than that of the impending shared high. The human can smell him, musky with smoke and sweet underneath. Gabriel leaned his head down until his forehead bumped against his companion’s, whispering words that were only supposed to be thoughts.

“…I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not again.”

_The glowing embers leaped and twirled in a fiery dance, twinkling like stars in the hot swirling air before cascading to the darkness below like gleeful fire fiends. Gabriel flies outside the massive cube-shaped stone cage of archaic design. It had intricate runes engraved into its sides, suspended on seemingly-infinite chains in the dark, stormy void of Hell. Sam is a mere soul, his body already waltzing around the Earth like Pinocchio before he was real boy._

_Gabriel doesn't even want to look at Sam, so he keeps his gaze trained on Lucifer with intensity. “It’s over, Lucifer,” He growls, voice a low rumble, “Let Sam go, now!”_

“ _Well, it's your lucky day, Little brother. I'm not possessing him, not anymore. When we took the tumble down here, we were separated, but we always manage to find each other again, right Sammy,” Lucifer whispers chillingly, his eyes glowing like pools of claret. Sam sinks in the devil’s arms, and the soft down of Lucifer's wings wrap tighter even as his fingertips glance over Sam's own, “Sam is mine, I’ve already taken him. Spiritually, emotionally, physically – In the biblical sense, of you catch my drift…”_

_“You son of a bitch,” Gabriel roars, his grace fluctuating dangerously, so much that it made Sam flinch, “I don't care that I am not strong enough to fight you, Lucifer. If you don’t let Sam go, I will end you. I swear." The younger archangel vows. Sam's feels the devil’s wings flicker against the air, a warning, and he squirms in Satan’s arms._

_Lucifer tilts his head and claps one hand on Sam's head, the other hand tightening on the human’s toned stomach as he pulls him closer. The devil’s forked tongue flicks out, a trail of saliva going down the side of his cheek. “He’s damaged goods, Gabe,” He chuckles darkly, planting a teasing kiss on the spot he licked, “What is the human phrase? Oh, yes – He’s free real estate.”_

_“S-s-stop,” Sam chokes out, his voice like a silent scream. He gasps as Lucifer rubs his stomach absently as if he doesn't even know he's reaching out to touch him, like it's just a habit, “I’m too tired. I-I-I’m too tired…”_

_“Sam,” The youngest archangel grits out, “I’m not just going to give up on you. You can’t expect me to just – “_

_“Just go! Just…” Sam closes his eyes, almost as if he can sense the devil’s growing smile, “I’m done fighting. I can’t keep going on, not after everything that’s happened.”_

“What do you mean not again?” Sam asks softly, snapping the latter back into reality.

“Nothing,” Gabriel responds, snuffing out the serpens grass, “Just a slip in words, I guess. Come on, we should finish packing. Crowley should be here any minute – “Sam grabs his wrist, so the archangel starts, surprised and drawn in. The human kisses him, the taste of smoke fresh on his breath.

Castiel, unaware of the archangel and the human’s activities, flies into the hotel room. Dean Winchester is in tow, nauseous from his first time flying with an angel, so he quickly makes a dash for the nearest waste bin. He lifts his head, wrinkling his nose in disgust when he sees a discarded joint and at least half a dozen used condoms. But then his gaze settles upon Gabriel a.k.a. the trickster, exchanging saliva with his baby brother.

“… _What the fuck?_ ”

“Dean-” Sam jumps up, almost trampling the smaller man in the process,” Cas – What did you do?”

“He needs to know. There’s no point hiding it now-” Castiel is resolute, “We need all of the help we can get, Sam. The seals are going to start breaking much faster than our minuscule numbers can handle. We need people, hunters, skilled hunters like your brother to handle the seals and such, so we can focus on those who are causing them to break.”

“That was not your call to make-” And Sam is furious, more furious than ever.

Gabriel interjected, “Sam, I made the call,” He holds up a wary hand as the human opens his mouth to object, “Don’t take this out on Cas, he was just following orders, okay? If you’re going to get all snippy with anyone, it should be me, but before you do… I think you need to listen to reasoning.”

Dean finally speaks and looks at Sam, expression obvious. “Sam. I think you’ve got a hella lot to explain, so you better start right now,” And his expression darkens as he utters, “Starting off with the obvious fact that you were...canoodling with the fucking trickster – “

“Hey, we’re both here because we love Sam,” Gabriel states with a shrug, digging his hands into his pockets, “No need to get all snippy like your little brother. Must be a family trait – What?” Dean stops talking. Castiel doesn’t look all that surprised. Sam turns a furious red and his jaw nearly hits the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Dean chokes out, “You want to run that by me again?”

The archangel feigns casualness, giving another shrug, “I love Sam. The Earth is round,” He inclines his head forward, trying to hide his amused smirk. He snaps his fingers, and a q-tip appears, “Do you need to clean out your ears?”

“Stop it,” Sam grates out, “Gabe…” Blushing would have been no problem, but what Sam did was go as red as a beetroot and radiate heat like a hot pan. You could have cooked a three-course meal on his face. No-one could have missed it. The youngest Winchester wanted the earth to open and swallow him whole. He wished to 'do a Daphne' and drop through a “Scooby-Doo” style trap door in the floor.

“Gabriel,” Castiel whispers, “So it’s true? What I saw in your head implied, and I saw signs but…”

Gabriel urged the seraph to continue, his voice like steel, “But, what?”

“It’s not what you think-” Sam’s voice sounds weaker than it should be, “Dean, please.”

“Oh, God, Sammy. No. Don’t look at me like that,” Dean expostulated, his lip curling in disgust,” Fuck! Don’t tell me that you’re implying this goes both ways-” Sam’s silence is the only answer anyone needed,” Boy, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Hey, watch it, Ken doll!” Gabriel who had been inordinately silent, finally snapped.

“How long has this been going on?” The hunter grits out, his eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard, “Answer me, damn it!”

“Dean-” Sam breathes, his voice trembling.

“Well, I’m glad someone decided to set that straight,” Dean announced, a mocking laugh making its way past his lips, “Here I thought it was sick, twisted thing you’d been forced into but no, turns out the truth is worse, that Bobby and I are right not to trust you because you are fucking around with a monster, a thing that wants nothing more than to…” Dean’s voice trails off, “For fuck’s sake Sam, he has tried to kill both of us on multiple occasions – He made you relive the same day over and over, continually having to watch me bite the dust –“

“Would you appreciate an apology?" Gabriel mutters, looking at him with a blank expression. Dean shoots him a glare, but the archangel simply rolls his eyes and continues, “For what it is worth, I am sorry you can’t let go of the past.”

Sam sighs loudly,” Gabe, that is the worst apology I have ever heard in my entire life,” Sam moans, head in his hands, “Did you even try- Okay, how about this. Try pretending you are apologizing to me when you apologize to him."

“Sam... I don't even apologize to you,” Gabriel snorts, rolling his eyes again.

”You did once,” Sam argues back and crosses his arms.

“I only said sorry because you weren’t going to put out unless – “

“Gabe - !”

Dean shakes his head, taking a heavy seat on the bed, “I think I’m going to be sick,” He then eyes the ruffled sheets and abundant number of condoms in the trash bin, he makes a face of disgust and quickly stands up again, “Again.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam snaps, breathing too heavily. Then he takes a deep breath and turns to Gabriel, “You happy now? You get what you fucking wanted?”

In that moment Sam knew he was already far away. Once more the youngest Winchester was the enemy. These swings from most loved to most hated would be the end of him. His states had no greyscale, only the polar extremes existed. Sam drew in a deep breath; the burning hard stare would last only as long as it took Dean to think of the most brutally cutting thing, he could tear him down with. And after that he could kiss anything breakable goodbye. Which right now might just be his nose, it was so hard to tell and so pointless to run.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your thick-skulled brother’s opinion, Sam,” Gabriel responds, “This is not why we’re here, not really. But if you want me to pretend, I’m heartbroken over his reaction, I will. All you have to do is say the word,” He puts a hand on his forehead, and mimics a swooning gesture, “I think there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Dean chuckles darkly, throwing his arms into the air, “Enlighten me then, asshole.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t care what you or anyone else is stupid enough to believe, Dean. But Sam thinks if you as a pretty damn good hunter, so I need your cooperation to ensure that the fucking world doesn’t get deep fried, even if your existence is making me tempted to just let it happen,” Gabriel barks, his champagne colored hues eliciting a threatening glow, “Sit and keep your mouth shut. Not you, Sam,” The archangel clarifies, “Just let me explain everything that’s going on.” He extends two fingers forehead, moving to press them against the oldest Winchester’s forehead.

Sam grabbed Gabriel’s wrist in alarm, and hissed, “What are you trying to do, Gabe?”

“Nothing,” The archangel answered, “Just making this whole thing go a whole lot faster.”

“Stop being so childish.”

“Stop being so oblivious.”

“Me? I’m the one being oblivious?”

“Obviously.”

“Oblivious to what? As far as I can see, I’m the only one here who has not been acting like a total lunatic - What is the matter with you – “Sam exclaims as two glowing fingers were pressed against his brother’s forehead. Gabriel didn’t even flinch when Dean collapsed, free falling onto the sandy carpet below with a loud groan.

The archangel chuckled, casually stepping over the human, “Like I said, making this thing go a whole lot faster. I relayed all of the information he needed directly into the limbic system of his brain,” He shrugged eyeing the limp body, “He should be fine.”

There was a whistling, and all conscious attention in the room turned to the demon. Crowley smirked, holding up an old fraying piece of paper, “I’ve got the spell, but if this is an inconvenient time – “

“Oh, thank you, Crowley,” Sam states, taking the paper from the demon, “You’re doing a good thing for us and I appreciate it.”

“Appreciation means truly little to me, darling. But I could go for another kiss – “

“ _What?_ ” Gabriel shrieks with a voice so high, all the glass in the room shattered.

 

_________

 

 

 

 

“We need to talk.”

“No, there’s nothing to talk about,” Gabriel insists, “I told your brother what I felt, so… end of discussion.”

Sam shook his head, annoyed now by his insistence. Why were they even arguing about this? “Alright,” Sam warned, his eyes narrowing, “If that’s the way you want to do it, but don’t expect me to be anything but blunt. First, I’m really holding myself back not punching your teeth in for saying something like that to Dean. That was not right, and you know it.”

Gabriel looked up, his jaw nearly hitting the damn floor, “Not right?”

“No,” Sam hisses, “No, it’s not right because that’s something that you’ve never even told me before! And the fact that you’d tell my brother that just to spite him further – “

“I didn’t say it to him just to spite him,” Gabriel quickly sputters out, clearly offended, “I just told him what I felt!”

Sam had no words to explain how he was feeling then, how confused and lost, but even if he did, he doubted they’d make it through the tight knot in his throat or his clenched jaw. Gabriel had basically insinuated that the he felt something more for him, than either of them had bargained for. He could feel the heat of a blush spread up his neck and burn his cheeks, because he knew there was some truth to that.

“Hell,” The archangel mutters, placing a hand on his neck, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… What the future may hold for me and you, and, me and you. Maybe after all of this over… I don’t know, honestly.”

“What,” Sam chokes out, his hands clenching at his sides, “You want to settle down, get married, maybe have a few kids? Gabe, I gave up on that kind of life a long, long time ago… Even if we do survive this…”

Harsh, but true. Gabriel flinched, but Sam didn’t wait for him to argue his case any longer. He knew that if anyone could convince him the sky was yellow, it was the archangel. So, yes, he fled, in a manner of speaking, he stood up and walked to the other side, avoiding the latter’s gaze.

“No, no, you’re right. I get it,” Gabriel mutters, “Look, you stay here with your brother. Cas and I will handle The Witnesses, we’ve got the spell, so we should be good.”

“Thank you,” Sam says softly. There was a fluttering of feathers and then the archangel was gone. And not a moment too soon, for as soon as he disappeared his brother appeared in the room.

Dean kicked a chair out of his way as he lunged at Sam. He grabbed his shirt, yanked him forward. Even though Sam was bigger, stronger, Dean's rage made him strong enough. The younger Winchester turned his head away, his nose and cheek muscles twitching. He was beginning to huff small, angry breaths.

“With everything you know,” Dean presses, keeping his voice deadly calm, “I could have helped or started helping a hell of a lot sooner, you stupid, stupid son of a bitch.”

“That’s the problem,” Sam says, “I never wanted to drag you into any of this, not after you went to literal hell! I didn’t want you to see the consequences of bringing me back. Saving my life, me, all it did…I have to make up for it.”

“Screw that,” Dean snarls, shaking his brother, “Sam, it is my job to protect you! Hell, or not, that will never change!”

“No,” Sam objected, his breathing becoming erratic, “No. After all the shit that you’ve done for me, it is my turn… My turn to put you first, Dean. No matter what it does to me.”

“This is putting me first? Pushing me away, keeping me in the dark… Turning yourself into this...?” Dean asks, voice cracking open, “You’ve got a pretty twisted idea of putting someone first! You didn’t have to do to this to yourself, we could have worked together… found a way to kill Lilith our way…” His grip was starting to go limp.

“Don’t you get it? I never had a chance Dean. I have demon blood in me,” Sam’s voice is trembling, and his vision starts to blur as he continues, “You’re angry, and, trust me, I understand. I’m willingly taking in the poison that we’ve been trained to kill our entire lives, and fuck I love it – I love it, Dean. Because no matter what I say or what I do I can’t deny the fact that I am a monster! But there isn’t another way! This, this is the only option,” A single tear runs down his cheek and he furiously wiped it away, “I am willing to become what every single damn thing, in my entire life has been pushing me to be, for you, for everyone that I love Dean! Because killing Lilith, averting the apocalypse, that’s what matters!”

Dean’s stomach drops straight to the floor and keeps on going. The way Sam’s talking about it scares him worse than any demon he’s ever faced. “Sammy,” He chokes out, releasing his brother entirely, “I can’t just stand by and watch you do this to yourself, you can’t ask me to do that. It goes against every single damn thing I’ve been trying to do my entire life!”

“I know,” The youngest Winchester whispers, “But you have to, Dean. It’s not about the two of us anymore, it’s the whole damn world at stake this time. I’ll be damned if I’m letting the entire world burn because I’m not willing to throw myself into the fire.”

The older Winchester slowly nods, running a hand over his mouth, “Okay,” He lets out a trembling breath, and repeats, “Okay, but if you’re doing this, you are not keeping me in the dark another damn minute. From this point forward, we are in this… _together_.”

“Okay,” Sam agrees, “I suppose with that out of the way, you want to know about the other hulking elephant in the room.”

“I don’t know if I want to know,” Dean mutters, “Like I said before… you sure know how to pick them. It’s just… Why didn’t you tell me? That you’re – “

“Bisexual?” Sam shrugs, and mutters,” I guess it never came up. With all the shit going on we haven’t exactly had time to have a coming-out party.”

“I’ll throw you one when all of this shit is past us,” Dean says with a smirk.

 

 

 

 

**September 22, 2008**

 

 

 

 

The next night, the hotel room is eerily quiet, quiet as an anchor in a dead calm sea. Gabriel and Castiel both beings with no need for sleep are huddled in the living room, talking softly in Enochian. They’re interrupted by the pitter-patter of bare feet on the hardwood floor, and the two angels look up, meeting the intruder’s steely gaze. Dean is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, fingers clenched around two bottles of beer.

“Cas,” Dean utters, “Can you give Gabe and I a moment to talk alone?”

Castiel eyed Dean strangely, not realizing that he was referring to him. Gabriel chuckles softly, saying something in Enochian, and Castiel’s eyes widen in understanding. The seraph turned to the human and slowly nodded, and with a ruffle of feathers he was gone, leaving the archangel and the human alone. Dean awkwardly sits next to the latter, offering him one of the beers, and after a moment he takes it.

“So, you are telling the truth, no tricks?” Dean asks, clasping his own beer in his hands, “Because if you are, that is some of the stupidest shit I have ever heard.”

“Stupid?” Gabriel says, voice soft, “I showed you the future I came from, you know what’s in store for your brother. It’s stupid to want to keep him from becoming addicted to demon blood? To prevent a future where you beat him to a pulp and tell him he was a freak, did I mention you entertained the idea of killing him? Oh, and you let him take the blame for things that were not his burden to bare. You abandoned him and made him feel like he had to hide things because otherwise you’d lock him in the panic room or hunt down like a fucking animal.”

Dean shook his head, gritting his teeth, “You’ve got some nerve, trying to turn this all on me…”

Gabriel rounds on Dean, advancing as his grace emits a powerful, dangerous glow, “Or maybe you recall the part where he loses his soul! His soul, Dean! Then you go and stuff it back down his gullet because you can’t face being alone! This mutilated, flayed alive soul that had no place in any meatsuit…” He chuckled darkly, slamming his beer bottle onto the table, “He goes insane, Dean, like any human would.”

Dean’s stomach cramps like he got socked in the gut, he could feel the intense, unbridled power radiating from the being before him. The fear travelled in the human’s veins but never made it to his facial muscles or skin. His complexion remained pale and matt, his eyes as steady as if he were conversing with a witness to a case.

“Sam doesn’t know,” Dean slowly says, stepping forward and keeping his voice calm, “Does he? About his future, you only filled him in on what he needed to know. That he had to grow stronger, so he could kill Lilith before she breaks all 66 seals, but you didn’t fill him in on the details, did you?”

The archangel narrows his eyes, nostrils flaring, before slowly nodding, “I couldn’t tell him,” He admits, “If I told him the real reasons, I’m doing what I’m doing, he’d never go along with it. He’s selfless to the point of stupidity, and what I’m doing, it’s not to save the world, it’s to save him. The world just happens to get saved in the process! And fine, I’ll admit it. Sam is the one good thing that's ever happened to me. So, sue me, I don’t want to give him up,” He takes a calming breath, “Selfish reasons aside - The less he knows, the safer he is. He can’t know too much, or we risk him unintentionally repeating the exact events – “

“Oh,” The human snarls, cutting the latter off, “Now I see – You don’t want to fill him in because you’re afraid he won’t like the full extent of your plan, huh? That you’re only helping him get strong enough to kill Lilith, not to save the world, but so that you don’t have to give him up again. He deserves to have a choice in all of this, you selfish son of a –“

“Don’t act like I'm the only one acting out of selfishness, Dean. You dragged him back into this. You wanted to keep your brother for yourself, but not in any way that would protect him,” The archangel countered, pointing at the latter accusingly, “You left him alone and defenseless and beat him down when he needed you most."

Dean snaps, “That was your future, not mine.”

“That doesn’t matter, Dean. Even now, all you can see is what he may become, not what he’s trying to. And face it, bucko, even in this future you’ve already done more than enough,” Gabriel keeps going as he mutters audibly under his breath, “You should thank your lucky stars your brother loves you, considering you don't deserve it."

“Gabriel,” Sam's voice startles everyone, “Leave my brother alone."

Both Dean and Gabriel turned in surprise to Sam who was standing in the doorway, his hair still rumpled from the few hours of sleep he’d gotten. The youngest Winchester had been awake for about an hour, puking his guts out in the bathroom, perplexed with the fact that he apparently couldn’t die, but could still catch something as trivial as a stomach bug. He hadn’t been able to keep anything down for a sizable number of days, and he was just about fed up with it – But, he had bigger fish to fry at the moment. At the image of fish, he almost darted in the direction of bathroom.

Thunder rolled in the distance as Gabriel hisses, “No, Sam. I won't. I'm not letting your brother treat you like mine did,” And then his gaze is laser-focused on Dean, arrested and condemning, “You’re a hypocrite and a stupid bastard, that is so set on condemning others, you can’t see just how fucked up you really are –“

“Now, Gabe!” Sam exclaims, and one of the beer bottles on the tables explodes in a shower of glass. He steps between them.

“I don't care that I am not strong enough to fight you, Gabriel,” Dean vows. Sam's feels Gabriel’s wings flutter in the air, a warning, “I will deep fry your wings –“At that instant the archangel snaps his fingers, freezing all time in the room.

Dean stops, shifting his head left and right in confusion. Sam is frozen in place, his hues wide in confusion, lips parted ever so slightly like he’s about to say something. Gabriel narrows his eyes, turning to Dean, and at that moment the human and the archangel faced off.

“Dean,” The archangel hisses, “Think about what you’re doing, for one damn second. Remember what I showed you, remember what your brother went through – Remember what he will go through if he doesn’t kill Lilith, now,” He steps close, his grace expanding as his eyes glow,” I didn’t even show you everything. If you tell him the truth, everything you saw will happen – “

“Bullshit,” The human hastened to say, “That’s complete and utter bullshit, he’s already gone this far! And if he knows what will happen, then he’ll know what not to do.”

Gabriel’s face darkened like gathering storm clouds, and another roll of thunder sounded. “Wrong,” He responded, “I guarantee you, if he knows the truth, then everything will come into fruition. Because then he’ll try and prevent these events from coming into fruition, which will definitely only set them in stone. Somehow, I don’t know if it’ll be the angels, the demons, or some other supernatural piece of crap, but they will get him to break the final seal and set Lucifer free. Then it’ll be a domino effect from there, everything that I’ve been trying to prevent will happen, Dean.”

Dean gulps, his eyes avoiding the latter’s gaze. Both ways there was a chance of it ending bad, ugly. And he knows it’s true. The human doesn't let that truth doesn't faze him, because his acceptance of the truth is just another enemy to conquer. Either he blatantly lies to his brother, helps spin this web of lies these angels are constructing, to protect him from a future he doesn’t even know exists. Or tell him the truth, allow him to decide where to go from there, but run the risk of the same events happening all over again.

“I am sorry, Dean,” The archangel utters, the storm outside calming, “Now, we are both burdened with the knowledge of a future neither of us wants to happen.”

“Alright, damn it. Alright,” The human croaks, “I’ll… I’ll stay quiet, but not for you. For him, for my brother…” The angel accepts this, and snaps his fingers resuming the time.

Sam huffs and takes Gabriel’s hand, dragging him out of the room before the fight could escalate any further. “Gabe, you can't expect me to just stand by when you can't even be in the same room as my brother without trying to throw down,” He scolds, “What were you two even arguing about this time?”

”Nothing,” The archangel mumbled, “He just gets under my skin, Sam."

“You need to try harder to get along with him,” Sam demands as he holds the latter’s hands, face scrunching, “Think about it like this – We are your garrison now, Gabe. Castiel, Dean, Crowley, and I, we need you to lead us…”

“Lead,” Gabriel scoffs, “Sam, you think I can lead this rag-tag band of misfits? I’m nothing but a screw-up, a coward that skipped out on my family, a stupid, immature jack-ass that only thinks about himself – Tell me, does any of that indicate that I should lead us?”

The human smiles softly, squeezing the latter’s hands, “We’ve all done something we regret, Gabe,” He looks into the latter’s eyes deeply, “And you are so much more than you think. You’re cunning, ambitious, clever; all traits of a strong leader, you just have to try, Gabe,” His look of thoughtfulness turns stern, “But you can’t lead us if you keep acting like an immature jack-ass.”

“Okay, okay,” Gabriel answers, palms raised, “I get the memo. No more being an immature jack-ass. Be easier to get along with. Take charge. Et cetera…”

“I mean, you're an archangel, and a damn powerful one,” Sam adds, throwing his arms in the air, “You are old as time itself. Act like it."

 

 

 

 

__________

 

 

 

Hours later, everything had finally calmed down. Castiel has returned and was now talking to Gabriel softly in Enochian. Dean was in the kitchenette preparing some eggs and bacon for those that ate. He adamantly refused to let the archangel just conjure some food up, claiming it wouldn’t be as good or genuine. Sam was researching to figure out potential next seals, splayed on his stomach on the couch with his laptop in front of him.

“Since Dean is so adamant about cooking, how about a quickie?” Gabriel whispers to Sam, breaking away from Castiel for a moment.

“It’s pronounced quiche, you idiot.”

“I said what I said.” That earned the archangel a flick on the nose.

Raphael is near. They only know from the lightning storm, the lights flickering, plus Sam, Castiel, and Gabriel all look up at the same time in the same direction before they all look at each other in unison. Dean's not sure how Sam is in on that, but he doesn't like the implications, he turns off the stove. Sam slowly closes his laptop, moving to stand beside his brother.

“You invite him?" Gabriel manages to add in a jibe towards Cas anyway, but his tone reveals the nervousness. Sam puts a hand on his arm and the archangel relaxes, but he's got that jittery, my-dick-head-brother-is-going-to-try-and-smite-my-ass-look.

Castiel looks at him, perplexed and legitimately offended, not understanding that it was a pathetic attempt at a joke. “I would never do such a thing, brother,” He sniffs, his stormy blue eyes darkening, “You should know better than to question my loyalty.”

"Shut up, Cas,” Dean mutters, “I’ll explain it later. Is that the teenage mutant ninja angel Sam was telling me about?”

“Nice to know some things haven't changed,” Sam’s tone tries for lighthearted fun and fails when he shoots Dean a look, “We need to get out of here, now.”

The older Winchester interjects, “I thought you withstood his smiting?”

“It was more of a love tap compared to what he’s capable of,” The younger Winchester admits with a gulp, “Besides, not everyone here can even take that much. Gabe, can you fly us out of here?”

“No, he’s somehow blocking me,” Gabriel turns to Castiel with a grin, “Looks like we’re going to have to suffer through his company, little brother.”

“Gabriel, Castiel, and the rest of you worms. I have a message from Heaven. I suggest you take it,” Raphael’s voice rumbles over them like a thundercloud, “Or one if you will. I will speak to Sam Winchester, and Sam Winchester alone or I will treat this island like a colony of ants under a spy glass.”

Sam gulps, and says, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Is that a yes?” Raphael bellowed, the baritone of his voice reverberating through the room.

No one in the room moved a muscle. Sam could hear his own heartbeat; he could even hear Dean’s shaking breaths. A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eye, his mouth formed a rigid grimace. The hunter’s eyes flickered across the room, each one of the occupant’s individual orbs wide with varied emotions.

Sam swallows thickly, his emerald hues stone-cold hard as he says, “ _Yes_.”

It felt as if he had been struck by lightning; pain flared white hot, radiating out to his whole body. The pain is nearly indescribable; a solid, molten, churning core of fire of heat not unlike the core of the earth itself sitting at the very center of his body. From his core there is a continuous, pulsing, throbbing of pure unbridled agony.

“Sam, Sammy!” Then he felt himself being hauled back onto his knees, though he doesn’t remember falling. The pain drove down for another attack, he blacked out. And he woke to darkness, lying flat on an empty, endless plane, sweat cascading down his shivering body in waves.

“Do not scream,” A voice whispered in the distance.

Shivering, drawing in shuddering breaths, Sam lay still for several seconds, several minutes. His whole body felt like heavy ice. He tried to move his arm, tried to lift his hand. Nothing. He is so tired that lying still took every ounce of energy. The darkness surrounded everything. It ate up everything in its path.

“Where am I?” Sam croaks.

Raphael laughs coldly, “The deepest corner of your mind. Deep, deep, deep, down, where no one can eavesdrop on our conversation,” He suddenly materializes in the azure darkness. His vessel was a stone-faced African American man, one with the posture and air of a man that had been living comfortably all of his life,” I have been wanting to meet you, personally that is, for a long, long time, Sam Winchester.”

“Can’t say I feel the same way,” Sam says warily, backing a few feet away.

The archangel smiles, the coldness spreading like a frigid wave to his eyes. “Sam,” His voice takes on scolding tone, the kind a mother would take when reprimanding a naughty child, “We have never even meet, yet you already seem so cold and callous towards me? I take my young brother has been twisting and distorting my image to that of a monster in your eyes?”

“That,” The human grits out, “And the fact you tried to deep fry me!”

Raphael inclined his head, smile being replaced with a smirk, “Surely you know that you’re immortal by now. Power comes with a price, you of all people should know this,” He tucks his hands in his vessel’s pockets and states, “In reality, it was a warning shot. An intentionally harmless strike with intent to warn you of my quickly growing annoyance towards your activities of late with my brother.”

“Most warning shots don’t actually hit those being warned,” The hunter points out, the annoyance evident in his voice, “Now, what do you want? Did you just show up to tell me you don’t approve of my relationship with your brother?”

The archangel’s face twisted into one of the utmost disgusts, “What my brother does with a worm he’s taken an interest in, is no care of mine. Not when there are other matters at hand,” Squinting his eyes, he disclosed, “No, the reason I wanted to meet with you is quite simple, really. What you are doing, trying to change something that has been in fruition since the beginnings of time, is foolish, plain and simple.”

“Tell me, why do you want to free Lucifer?” Sam asks softly, “Did you not help cast him down on the first place? Why bring him back, after all he’s done? What he will do?”

Raphael cocks his head to the side, and answers, “I thought the answer was the least bit obvious,” His eyes narrow and his lips form a thin line as he confessed, “I lost faith in God and became weary of my father's duties, long ago. I believe that God is dead and that we are living in a God-less universe. I only bowed to you... y-you hairless apes because he told me too. Now that he is gone? Your existence does nothing to attribute to this universe, if anything it sullies it, so tell me, why should I care what my older brothers do to you?”

“What you think doesn’t matter,” The human barks, taking a step forward, “I won’t let you release that monster! And if you think that I’ll stop what I’m doing, and actually help you kick-start Armageddon…” He scoffs and shakes his head, “You are an imbecile.”

”Your new-found power has made you bold,” The archangel croons, “Tell me, Sam, you care so much for the human race… why are you leaving it behind? Do you even know what you’re turning yourself into to gain enough power to kill the first demon? No ordinary monster; a cambion, but an unnatural one. Most are born of the flesh of a demon and a human, you had human parents, but when Azazel bleed into your mouth, he instilled you with an addiction to poison. A need to feed on his brothers and sisters! You are a monster that devours other monsters, taking in their power through the things that make them live; their blood, organs, flesh, and bone! Or you did at first, now you focus on the best part… their souls. The meatiest, headiest part that unlike the rest never leaves you reeling for another hit. No, this power stays…”

“…Shut up,” Sam chokes out.

”Are you willing to sacrifice your natural human heritage for the filth and vermin that occupy this planet. You are a hunter, before you started to take in the poison, you saw it first hand,” Raphael purrs, his lips in a sneer, “And now you’ve tasted it.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Maybe, just maybe, you enjoy the poison a little too much. You like the feeling, right? The heady rush that comes with power,” The archangel presses, closing in on the human, “After all, you are The Boy King, Azazel’s prodigy… Maybe you’re only preparing yourself for the role you are meant to take, perhaps the throne – After you kill Lilith that is.”

“No,” The human gasps, “No, you’re lying!”

Raphael grins manically, “All hail the future king.”

Sam’s eyes flash open and he takes in a greedy gulp of air. His head splayed on Gabriel’s lap, and they’re both on the couch. Dean and Castiel are standing a few feet away, keeping a worried eye on both. The archangel is running soothing fingers through the human’s long hair, his fingertips lit with grace. For a second, the youngest Winchester doesn’t move, he just allows his companion to soothe away all his worry and pain with his angelic power.

“Hey,” Sam says softly.

“Hey,” Gabriel responds, his lips a smirk, “You managed to boot my asshole of a brother out of your head but caused some damage to your mind. Don’t try any Vulcan mind-melds for a little while, and you should be fine. Ready to get up?”

The human sits up from the archangel’s lap and grips the side of the couch. One of his hands goes to his forehead as he winces at a sudden, sharp pain in the center. He shakes his head and continues to stand, smiling weakly when he feels his brother’s steadying hand on his shoulder.

“The worm you’ve become smitten to has developed quite the amount of power, brother. It is no small feat to force an archangel to vacate from their mind,” Raphael’s voice booms over their heads, “As much as it would delight me to see him become the very thing he sought to destroy, I must insist that all of you cease your interference at once.”

“I don't take orders from you, ass-hat,” Gabriel yells back, “And insult my little spoon again, you won't like the consequences!”

The older archangel’s voice sounds annoyed as he growls, “That I doubt.”

“Gabriel you cannot go toe-to-toe with Raphael,” Castiel agrees, placing a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, “You will perish. And Sam is obviously the big sp-“

The younger archangel glares at the seraph and snarls, “Now would be a wonderful time for you to shut your trap, Cassie!”

“Billions of years of inciting swift and exact punishment on those below us, and you are now cavorting with humanity, littlest brother. Tell me, what changed?” Raphael questions, his voice stone-cold.

“Oh, shove it up that tight ass of your, Raph!” Gabriel barks back, throwing his hands in the air, “I know I used to be all, ‘Gross, humans, they look like hairless monkeys, lets toy with them by turning their girlfriends into helicopters mid-sex.’ Until I get my hands on this lanky one, and now I know that at least one is worth saving.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but no one can miss the faint blush that goes up his cheeks,” …Love you, too.” It’s barely a whisper, but he still sighs in relief when no one notices.

Castiel sighs, and turns to Dean, “It’s true, he has changed his outlook on humans since he met this one. Your brother seems to affect him positively.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and replies, “Whatever keeps him from trying to throw the planet in a deep-fryer.”

Cas inclines his head to the side, “I don’t understand…”

“Like I said, smitten,” Raphael hisses, his tone is bitter.

“You sound jealous, Raph. Back off and find your own,” Gabriel cut in with a quip, “He’s not your type anyway. His ass is actually loose enough to fit something in it, and let me give you a hint – It isn’t a stick but it rhymes –“

“Gabe.”

Raphael sounds amused as he responds, “You may joke, little brother, but I can see right through you. You’re afraid, terrified even, of losing this one human, though I don’t know if he still qualifies as that,” He laughs cold and sharp, “There are billions more that can take his place. Why him?”

“Say what you have to say and leave,” Gabriel grits out.

“I'd prefer a face to face conversation. Alone with Sam Winchester,” Raphael responds, “We weren’t finished.”

“You know, I don't care. Say your piece right here and now!” The younger archangel argues, “I’m not letting Sam anywhere near you alone again.”

“What are you getting at, Raphael?” Sam asks, pacing. “Just… stop dragging this out and tell me what you want to say.”

“Fine,” The archangel growls, “As of late I have been in cohorts with the demon Lilith, for she is worried that you may actually be able to kill her before the other seals break. She serves her master well, so I am protecting her from you.”

Sam’s mouth is dry, and his heart is beating too fast, and he can feel how dilated his pupils have grown even though he can’t see them. Gabriel stiffens beside him. Dean and Castiel have fallen silent, their banter cut short.

“No one among your group is strong enough to fight me nor my forces,” Raphael states, “You are all now fighting for a lost cause. You cannot kill Lilith as long as she is under my watchful eye, and those of my angels. You may have won a few battles, but you have already lost the war.”

“We won’t stop – “Sam chokes out.

“See if I care,” The archangel chuckles darkly, “I take great amusement in watching you stumble about, Sam Winchester. To think, you’ve turned yourself into a cambion, for no reason – You turned yourself into a monster and guzzled down the very thing you’ve claimed to fight your whole life for nothing. It’s better than any other torture I’ve seen a human endure.”

Without skipping a beat, Sam runs into the bathroom and empties his stomach. He heaves and heaves, tears stinging in his eyes. He can distantly hear the continued yelling between the two archangels. Dean and Castiel enter the bathroom, the human keeping a comforting hand on his back, the angel standing off the side protectively. The younger Winchester flushes the toilet and lays his head against the side of the cabinet.

“Oh, God,” He chokes out, his hand gravitating towards his aching abdomen, “No, it can’t be over, not just like that… Not after everything.” Monster; he was a monster. One that consumed others like a black hole, one far worse than any he’d ever put to rest, but before it didn’t matter. There was a reason, a selfless reason – Saving the goddamn world! Now?

“It’s not, we can find a way,” Dean hastens to say, “We always find a way, Sammy.”

Gabriel enters the bathroom, his face red and his lips parted, “Sam,” He quickly leans beside him, summoning a glass of water into his palm, “Your brother is right, we’ll find a way. Raphael may say that this is the end for us, but… Someone once told me that if you don’t like an ending, you just have to change it.”

Sam sips at the water, before pressing a kiss into the corner of the archangel’s mouth, “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard,” He shakes his head, “But I can tell you’re trying.”

“I am,” Gabriel admits, running his hand down Sam’s face, “Immortal or not, I guess you can still get sick. Maybe I should check you out?”

“No,” The human replies, “I’m fine. I’ve just had a bug for a little while now. Besides, if I’m being honest, I need a distraction, especially now.”

The archangel nods in understanding, running his thumb down the human’s jawline. “Alright, well we’ve got a lot to think about, Sam,” He sighs, rubbing the curve three times in succession, “Failure isn’t an option, so I guess for now we have to just play defense. Try and protect as many seals as possible until we can find a way to get close to Lilith.”

“You’re taking this leadership role pretty seriously,” Sam comments, taking another sip of water, “Maybe I should let you check me out? In the bedroom…”

“Aw, look at you trying to sweet talk to me,” Gabriel beams, pressing a kiss to Sam’s exposed neck, tenderly biting at it, “It’s kind of a turn-off because you’re very, very bad at it, but I commend your effort.”

 

 

 

 

**September 25, 2008**

 

 

 

 

After their brief exchange, Gabriel is turned off, and doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to find Sam Winchester sexually attractive again; he was not all that good at sweet talking. Sam sighs dejectedly, despite the mystery illness he stubbornly refuses to let anyone treat, he is still goddamned horny, but unlike Gabriel he isn’t particularly good at expressing that. When darkness falls again, he tries to convince his companion to take him to bed, on the verge of just pleasuring himself if he didn’t get relief.

Gabriel sighed, folding his arms behind his head, “I’m tired, maybe tomorrow night.”

“Gabe,” Sam grits out, “You’re an immortal being of astronomical strength, you don’t get fucking tired – Were you that turned off by my attempt at sweet talking you? Come on, I’ll do anything if you’ll just…” His puts up a finger, and raised one eyebrow as the latter smirks mischievously, “Not that.”

“Come on,” The archangel purrs, biting at his lip as his hands land on the cambion’s hips.

Sam smacked off his hands with an annoyed huff, saying, “We need to leave,” And after a brief mental tussle with himself, he adds, “Take us to Bobby’s, once everyone is back. It’s about time all potential players were filled in.”

Gabriel obeys, then flies them all back to Bobby’s house. Bobby Singer shoots an archangel and a seraph with rock salt, and then tries to stab them with a kitchen knife, not exactly in the know. When Gabriel did the same thing, he did to Dean to Bobby, the older man awoke a few minutes later, only to take a swig of cheap whiskey and grunt out an “idjits” before ordering the younger Winchester to sit down and tell personally explain to him what the hell the plan was. Sam did so, explaining what he’d done, choosing to skip out on the fact his “partnership” with the archangel went a wee bit deeper - Bobby was no idiot, and agreed with Dean that he sure knew how to pick ‘em.

“So, let me make sure I’m clear on all of this," Bobby starts in after everyone has settled down, his voice gruff as always, although a bit more uncontrolled, “You unintentionally broke the first seal that will eventually start fuckin’ Armageddon, and got rescued from Hell by an angel wearing a dirty trench coat. The trickster, who is apparently the archangel Gabriel, decides he wants to put off the end of the world because he’s fallen head-over-feels for Sam. And Sam is now a creature called a cambion, that is part-demon, and has the power to take in the powers of other black-eyed bastards and other powerful beings. Am I following this correctly?"

Sam nods, Gabriel crouched by his feet, hand twined in his. Dean keeps pacing, unable to stay still. Castiel seems lost in the situation, choosing to hover over Gabriel’s side protectively, keeping his eyes to the floor. Bobby is incredibly quiet after that. The younger Winchester looks down, unable to hold Bobby's gaze. There's an exceedingly long pause.

The seasoned hunter takes another drink, and breaks the silence, “What else have I got to lose?”

It wouldn’t be until later, while Sam is meeting with Crowley, that Bobby is filled on everything else. About Gabriel and Dean’s personal mission to ensure the future that they both saw would never happen, no matter the cost to either of them. The old man shook his hand, muttering about how the two brothers would never stop trying to lasso the moon for one another. But he didn’t argue further, he just said one last thing.

“So, you two are really doing this,” Bobby starts, taking a heavy seat on the couch, “You’re really hiding something this big from him?”

“Of course, we have to, Bobby. It's Sam. It's always about Sam," Dean adds in, equally incredulous as he continues pacing, “With all the shit that’s going down, I don’t have much of a choice – And I mean, I don't know what goes through my brother’s head. Romancing a halo-head, never thought I'd see the day-"

Gabriel raises a hand, and snarks, “I’m right here, hairless-ape.”

“When Sam does find out, and he will, he’ll never be able to trust either of you again,” Bobby murmurs softly,” Trust is a fragile thing. Easy to break, easy to lose and one of the damned hardest things to ever get back.”

“At least he won’t have to see, what I’ve seen,” Dean states firmly, finally coming to a complete stop.

Seeing the two’s resoluteness over the matter, Bobby changes the subject. “I take it you intend to stick with Sam, which means you intend to stay here,” The old hunter asks a bit stiffly to Gabriel, “I’ve got a spare room- “

“I go where Sam goes,” Gabriel answers and shrugs, “But, I think the two of us can find our own place. In fact, I’ve got somewhere in mind – Holy shit.”

The door opens, and Sam steps in with a maniac grin on his face, his eyes flicking back and forth throughout the room. Curled protectively in his arms is an especially small corgi with big brown orbs that glances curiously around the room. It perks it’s head up, tongue slipping out as he glances around the room with curiosity. The cambion flushes in embarrassment, and mutters, “I think I just stole the King of the Crossroad’s dog.”

_Sam Winchester glanced around the room. Test tubes, beakers, glass jars with strange creatures floating inside. Tiny bottles laid out in neat rows beside the microscope. A refrigerator marked with hazard stickers. The larger tubes that had dead, partly dissected creatures inside. And all around him, bits of machines, motors, steel scrap and tools that he didn't recognize._

_A wave of nausea struck Sam. Grimacing, he went to the back wall farthest from the experiments and sat down on examination table, sinking down as he leaned against the rough brick behind him. He leaned further back, head up, refusing to move when he heard the door open. Cecily, Crowley’s associate waltzes in with a pearly white smile. In the distance the sound of the club’s music can still be heard as the door slowly closes behind her._

_“Well, Sam, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again anytime soon,” Cecily purrs, hopping up in the table with him, “I bet a fortune on the dead-pool that you’d be a roasted mass of flannel, after you pissed those halos up there off. A lot of demons were looking forward to roasting marshmallows over your corpse.”_

_“Charming,” Sam snorts, the she-demon’s presence starting to ease away his discomfort, “So, when did demons get their own club-house?”_

_The she-demon hummed softly, curling a strand of hair in her finger, “Well with the apocalypse looming ahead, Crowley saw a business opportunity. Even demons would rather burn out than fade away,” She sighs and allows the strand of hair she was messing with to fall from her hand, “A respectable number of the demon population is on a need-to-know basis at the moment. Those closest to Lilith are the only ones that know about the world’s impending doom, but the common demons… they’re not complete idiots. They know something is going down, so they come here to eat, drink, fuck… A way to escape from reality.”_

“ _I can understand that,” The hunter replies softly, “More than one would think.”_

_Cecily nods and began to clear her workstation, moving away previous experiments, putting bottles on shelves, and spreading out new test tubes. She tested a pen and began writing labels. “So, the big honcho in heaven says you’re a cambion, huh? Nice,” She smiles and scribbles something down, “Crowley called you here because he’s managed to root out a couple of demons no one down stairs would notice went missing. Which means… Dinner is served big boy. And this buffet has everything from the average demon, to a few ornery old-timers, so when Crowley gets out of his meeting you can dig in!”_

_Cecily exited the room, her heels clicking down the hall as the door slowly closed. Just as it was about to close all the way, a skittering of nails across the tiles resounded and a blur of fur and limbs shot into the room. Sam jumped, letting out a relieved chuckle as he laid eyes on the intruder. A runt-sized corgi with eyes that were the type of brown that reminded him of a sweet chocolate. His fur is almost entirely fawn colored except for his white belly and little matching paws that look like he’s wearing wee dog-sized booties._

_Sam grins ear-to-ear, glancing about the room curiously to see whether an owner would emerge. After a moment, he hopped off the table and offered his hand for the dog to sniff. The corgi edged forward cautiously and sniffed, before yipping excitedly and hopping into the younger Winchester’s arms. He licked and nibbled at the hunter’s face, not stopping even when he’s breathless with laughter and red faced. He curls his long arms around the mass of fur, holding him close and tight._

“ _Jeez, pfft, stop – Oh my gosh, stop,” Sam is still laughing louder and longer than he has in literal years, “Down boy – Pffft…” Needless to say, later the corgi was gently set in the passenger seat of the Impala with a pat on its head._

“So,” Dean presses his lips together, “You just stole that asshole’s mutt? Didn’t even think twice, huh?”

Sam shrugs, scratching behind the corgi’s pointy ears, laughing when the dog yips happily in response. It rolls over in the gargantuan man’s arms, little legs kicking in the air as he swipes his tongue over his new owner’s hand. Dean raised a brow, looking to Gabriel and Bobby for help. Both shrugged simultaneously, neither wanting to be the stupid soul that would try and pry the dog from the youngest Winchester’s arms.

Castiel suddenly appeared, the sound of ruffling feathers behind him. His blue gaze immediately settles on the dog, and he frowned deeply, “How odd,” He turns to the archangel, “I didn’t realize Argos still remained on Earth.”

“Argos, like the dog from _The Odyssey_?” Sam questions, eyes widening as he looks down at the seemingly normal dog rolling about in his arms, “Odysseus’s faithful dog?”

”The same,” Castiel confirms, leaning over and giving the corgi a brief pat, “It was said when his master, Odysseus, returned home after nearly twenty years, Argos recognizes him, rejoices, and dies. This is not true, however, for his loyalty he was gifted with the grace of being reborn. Returning every thousand years or so to stay by another’s side until the end, at which point he too shall die and choose another.”

“Wait,” Sam utters, his pets halting, “So, he chose Crowley?”

“No,” Castiel responds, sounding bemused, “It seems he’s chosen you, Sam. Argos only chooses those with the fiercest need for companionship in a time of war to spend his life with. You should feel extremely honored and repay him by caring for him as well.”

Argos barks and licks Sam’s hand again. _I’m a corgi, which is a British bread. Or is it breed?_

“He talked!” Sam gasps out, almost dropping the dog in surprise, “Did no one else hear that? He talked – Like actually said – “

The seraph nods, and explains, “You can communicate with each other, Sam. From this point forward, you two will share a profound bond until death parts you,” He pats the dog’s head again, “He will be a good companion to have in the fight against Lilith, for he has many gifts no ordinary dog holds and will never leave your side. I am glad you found him.”

“Me too,” Sam grins, rubbing Argo’s belly, laughing as he licked his feet in appreciation.

“I’ve been replaced with a flea-bitten mutt,” Gabriel huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sounds like an upgrade,” Dean snorts, speaking for the first time in a while. So many weird things had gone down since his return from downstairs, so he honestly wasn’t as surprised when an ancient dog named Argos chose his brother as his master.

Argos barks. _You have odd companions._

“I do,” The cambion agrees, “But you’ll get used to them.”

The corgi barks again, wagging his tail. _I shall try, for you, Sam._

“Thanks.”

All eyes in the room fell on Sam as he continued carrying on a conversation with a dog, that only he could understand. Gabriel rolled his eyes, muttering angrily under his breath as he dragged Castiel away, so they could gather weapons they needed. Dean laughed, and smiled ever-so-slightly, remembering a smaller, much more innocent Sam begging for a puppy. He patted his brother on the shoulder and left the room to grab a beer and catch up with Bobby.

 

 

 

 

**_________**

 

 

 

 

The cabin hunkered low on the moor like a child in the elements trying to keep warm. Yet it looked alive and welcoming with a thin silver trail curling from the crooked stone chimney. The sides were the same grey slabs as the low walls in the dales and the roof was a darker slate. Without a thought to what lay inside Sam tucked his chins to his chest and strode right to it against the wind and driving snow. Argos trembled in his arms, the snow landing on his thick fur, blanketing him in a thick layer of white.

“Why are we here?” Sam asks as his teeth chatter, nearly ripping open the door. He eagerly enters the large cabin, stamping the snow off his feet as he slams the door behind him. Argos hops down from his arms and shakes himself off, letting out aggravated huffs as he did so. The corgi sent a menacing glare to the archangel that had dragged them out in the freezing cold town of Telluride, Colorado.

“Well, it usually doesn’t snow here until late-October, but I pulled some celestial strings to make it snow,” Gabriel announces with a grin, feeling up the walls the find a light switch, “I thought it’d make this moment for magical.”

Argos let out a low growl. _Your man-toy is an imbecile._

Sam shakes his head and scoops the corgi into his arms. “Gabe, what are we doing here – “He blinks and the lights flash on, revealing the inside of the massive cabin. Suddenly the warmth hits the cambion, kindly welcoming him in with the sound of crackling wood and the smell of comfort from the stone chimneyed fire place central of the room everything in the room. He eyes the set of stairs that is on either side of the room, leading to an unseen upstairs.

“Ready for the tour?” Gabriel asks with a grin.

“What is it?” Sam questions softly, already sure of the answer.

“Our house.”

“ _Our_...house?”

“Yeah,” The archangel’s grin falters for a second as he utters, “I thought it’d be cool to have our own place, so we wouldn’t have to share a house with anyone else. Plus, it’s heavily warded with plenty of enchantments I set myself. I mean, the refrigerator has a spell on it so it’s always stocked with essentials – “His words are swallowed by Sam’s lips, and he quickly yanks the older man down to pull him closer.

Argos barks, and makes a quick escape from Sam’s arms. _These two go at it more than rabbits. Now, where’s the kitchen?_

He trots to another room just in time. Soon clothes are pulled from muscular bodies with force, buttons fly across the room, and the youngest Winchester’s underwear are ripped from his body. The corgi can still hear them, however, and whimpers laying on the floor as his ears flatten.

He barks again. _I need to find some dog adequate ear-plugs._

 

 

 

 

**October 31, 2008**

 

 

 

 

Samhain curls his lips back into a snarl as he pushes one hand forward, a blast of white light emitting from his palm. Sam Winchester walks through it easily, not even batting an eye. The special-demon’s eyes are no longer what they used to be, but he can still see the blur of a living being approaching. His eyes widened, and his snarl becomes a tight-lipped frown.

“Yeah,” Sam acknowledges, with an enigmatic smile, “That demon-ray-gun stuff doesn’t work on me.”

Samhain charges like a wounded bull, his sight set on the blurry figure that was intruding upon the festivities of his night. Sam's lips quirked, and he lifted his hands. He made a flicking motion with his fingers and sent the special-demon crashing through the mausoleum’s many tombs. Walking over to the shattered, jagged wood and porcelain, he grinned down at the demon.

The cambion pushed his palm towards the demon, before abruptly thrusting it into the air, the demon with it. Samhain snarled and writhed in mid-air, strings of saliva dribbling down to the floor below. Sam made a face disgust as he shook his head and turned his palm into a fist. The special-demon gagged violently, heaving as a thick, black cloud sparking with power and hate began emerging from his trembling lips.

Sam brings his open palm to his mouth, the azure mass swirling into his mouth at physical command. For a brief second, his eyes turned into dull, pale blue hues of Samhain, but he quickly tightened the reigns. He cocked his head to side, letting out a pained grunt, and took a shaking breath as his skeleton flashed violently, signaling that the demon was dead, and his power had been absorbed into his meatsuit. He gasps lightly as he feels a pair of eyes upon him: Dean.

Dean Winchester stands at the entrance, his emerald hues cold as stone, his lips a fine line. The older Winchester had never seen his brother fully use his power before, and in truth, it was one of the scariest damn things he’d ever seen in his life. That brief second, when it looked like Sam had lost control to the very demon he’d consumed – Dean shook his head, trying to banish the thought from his mind. He gulped heavily, and walked towards his brother, offering him a hand up.

Sam looked down, he hadn’t even realized’he’d slouched to the floor. He shakily took his brother’s hand, gripping tight as he was hauled back up onto his feet. Dean states his shoulder, his eyes softening at the sight of his younger brother. He would never be able to accept what his brother had become, at least not fully, but he constantly reminded himself it was better than the alternative. Sam seemed relieved, letting out a shaking breath, before relaxing into the touch.

Argos trotted into the scene, causally chewing on a decaying bone in his maw. He stopped in front of Sam, dropping his prize at his master’s feet. He looked up expectantly, cocking his head to side, before barking. _Your dim-witted brother left me to my own devices, but I managed to take out a good majority of the zombies. Walking chew-toys if you ask me._

Dean frowned, pointing at the bone, “Is that “

”Yeah,” Sam answered with a sigh, “He’s probably just a little hungry. On the way back, we can stop by a diner or something to grab him some waffles. I’m worried that he hasn’t been eating enough lately.”

“That’s sick. That’s a human bone,” The older Winchester criticized, shaking his head, “I’m telling you, give me five minutes and a rolled-up newspaper!”

Argos barked. _I do enjoy waffles. And if anyone needs a swat on the nose with a newspaper it’s your moron-of-a-brother._

“I know,” The younger Winchester concurred with a nod, “If he doesn’t stop pestering you, I’ll make Gabe turn him into a squirrel. He’s always in the mood to distribute just desserts – “

Dean snorted, opening the driver’s side door and taking a heavy seat. “Whoa,” He exclaims, seeing his younger brother about to enter his car with the dog in tow, “There is no way that fluff-ball is riding in here again. Look, he got fur all over the seats, and, shit, it stinks!”

Sam scowls, stopping in front of his side, and replies, “Well what am I supposed to do? Strap him to the roof,” He sits on the passenger side, and pats his lap invitingly. The dog wags his tail and jumps onto his owner’s lap, “Look, he’ll just stay on my lap.”

Dean points at the dog, leaning close into its face, “You should give some thought on what’ll happen if you do anything to mess up Baby. Three words. Rolled. Up. Newspaper.”

Argos barks. _And you should give some thought to purchasing some non-bunching panties._

The corgi yawns, stretching out on his master’s lap. The dog laid its head on the cambion’s abdomen, nuzzling into the warmth emitting from his toned body. Sam rubs Argos’ ears absent mindedly, letting out a contented sigh when they flattened signaling, he’d relaxed. Dean watched the whole scene with a raised brow, he’d never understand his brother’s soft-side towards animals.

“We still stopping for waffles?” Dean asks.

Argos eyes shoot open, and he yawns again. _Waffles?_

 

__________

Still tired, Dean Winchester blinked slowly, not knowing how long he'd slept. As he pushed himself up, leaning on his arm and pushing the blanket around his waist, he groaned and shook his head once to clear it. His whole body felt sore as if he'd hunted for days without rest. His hands were too stiff to flex properly, and bandages covered his right arm and shoulder, making it hard to move. He turned to the clock on his bedside table and growled in agitation. 1:23 AM Glared at him blinking red numbers.

Dizzy. He grabbed the edge of the mattress and closed his eyes as the world tilted. He felt like the floor would tip so much he'd fall, but as he leaned too far to compensate, he managed to balance himself. An all too familiar feeling twinges in his bladder and he stood.

“Gotta piss,” He muttered as he attempted to make his way down the hall. The second he exited his doorway, a coppery, bitter scent hit his nostrils and he cringed,” Fuck, jeez, what the hell….?”

A single set of muddied of footprints littered the wooden floor leading down the hall, smears of blood running up and down the hall. At the very end of the hall, the restroom, he heard water running. The hunter pulled out his handgun from the waistband of his pajama bottoms, cautiously making his way the bathroom. The doorknob had a smear of blood that ran down to the door’s frame.

Dean slowly opened the door, the sound of running water blasting in his ears. White light cascaded into his vision, and the entire room was a mess of mud and blood. Muddy footprints smeared the blue tile floor, rubbing off onto the shower mat, and the sink had bloody handprints all over its edges and the mirror had five long lines of crimson running down it.

“ _Cas_ -?” Dean snarled in surprise, shoving his gun back into his pajama bottoms, “What the hell are you doing taking a shower, fully clothed, in the middle of the night?! And what the hell happened in the hallway-You’re cleaning that up, feathers!”

Castiel has his head back, his eyes thoughtfully closed as water splashed over his grime covered face. His trench coat was nearly dyed crimson with all of the blood covering him, smears of mud and muck up and down his shirt and pants. The angel opened one eye, regarding the human thoughtfully, before closing it once more and turning off the shower.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, his grave voice hinting at annoyance, “I came to speak to you and Bobby but found it necessary to rinse off first, given my current state. There is much to speak of, but first I require a towel- “

“Woah, okay, I’m going to grab you a spare pair of clothes and a towel, then we can talk,” Dean snorts eyeing the still filthy angel with distaste, “Angels.” He tossed a towel into his friend’s face, ignoring the surprised ‘mmph’ as the angel staggered backward.

Holding the towel, Castiel states, “Just know, Dean, what we are about to discuss…Sam is not to know of.”

 

 

 

 

**November 1, 2008**

 

 

 

 

Sam decided he was willing to try more in bed with Gabriel. Or to try to try. In truth, he’d been in the oddest place lately – Sexually, anyway. One minute he was ready to pounce his partner like a cat, next he was tempted to get a squirt bottle to try and shoo him away. Tonight, he decided to compromise and open the door for his partner, technically his legs.

“Relax,” Gabriel whispered, dropping a kiss on Sam’s bent knee, “Just relax. You’re never this tense, usually so eager – Are you not up for it?”

They kissed long and wet, and Sam very deliberately forced himself to relax, to pay attention to how Gabriel’s body felt next to his own. Besides, there would be a lot more kissing before they got the actual sex part. And as the archangel bent closer, drawing the cambion into his arms again, he was reminded just how much he liked that part.

Then just like that, the vision hit him fast, unmerciful, leaving him fighting pain and angst. He cries out grabbing his head and feels the weight of the latter’s body leave him. He feels hands touching his face, slapping at his cheeks to get him to open his eyes. But he cannot see, not beyond the vision engulfing him.

The knife blossomed in his vision and red substance of fresh claret splattered onto the wooden floor below. For a second Sam felt as if he was the one that was stabbed, and he shut his eyes against the pain that ripped through his body. Whimpering, he curled up in a little ball, ignoring the hands that now shook him frantically. His name is being called in the distance, “Sam!” Black begins to push into the corners of his vision as he sees the face of Meg Master’s latest meatsuit of the month.

She smiles, teeth pearly white as she brings up the knife again, “Usually I wouldn’t even bother getting my hands dirty, but… Lilith knows your master is a rat, and she wanted to see you suffer, oh, so bad!”

“Please,” Cecily cries, blood bubbling past her lips, “I don’t know where the bastard ran off to! If I knew, I’d tell you, I swear! He left me for dead!”

“Oh, I want to believe you,” Meg purrs, tracing the knife down her cheek, “But, I can’t take chances… Sorry, not sorry.”

With that Sam takes a gasping breath as the black overtakes his vision completely. His body goes limp and he falls into someone’s arms, completely relaxing against their body. Gabriel places two fingers against Sam’s forehead, letting out a relived sigh when he sees nothing is wrong with him physically. The vision just wore him out, he was going to be fine, but the archangel still needed to inform the rest of their group. He quickly teleported them to Bobby’s house.

“What happened?” Bobby asks, placing a cold, moist cloth on Sam’s head.

Dean sat beside his brother, taking his hand in his. He looks up, his gaze cold as he repeats, “What happened?”

“Me and Sam… we were about to,” Gabriel makes a quick motion with his hands, “When he started going all glitchy and then he suddenly passed out.”

“About to...” Castiel echoes Gabriel’s words, brow creased in that frown that says he doesn’t have the first clue what the archangel is on about.

Gabriel shakes his head, and he groans as he makes the motion again, “About to– We were about to have sex.”

The seraph’s eyes widen for a moment, fixing on the latter—and come on, like he didn’t know, with all the times he’s dropped in on them inappropriately. Gabriel shudders at the very thought of all the interrupted sessions. Dean shuts his mouth, opens it again, then shuts it again. He doesn’t even know what to say to that.

Finally, Dean utters, “First things, gross.”

Argos barks in agreement. _At least you don’t have to listen to them._

“Second things, it sounds like he was having a vision,” The older Winchester shakes his head and asserts, “He hasn’t had one of those since Azazel’s death. Do you think his new mojo is bringing them back?”

“A likely cause,” Castiel confirms with a nod, “Perhaps he’ll enlighten us when he wakes –“Sam sits up abruptly with a choking gasp, making the human’s in the room jolt. The two angels don’t even blink. “…Up.”

“Sammy, what happened? You okay?” Dean’s voice was clouded with worry.

"I'm… I’m fine," Sam mumbled, but to his chagrin found that his trembling voice did shit to convince his brother that he everything was just peachy.

“You look like shit," The older Winchester comments, “You better stay down for a little while.”

Argos barks, wagging his tail as he licks Sam’s face. _That’s two things we’ve agreed on today._

Feeling too weak to object he did as his older brother told him. “I had a vision.”

“We figured that much,” Gabriel interjects, “What’d you see?”

The cambion takes a deep breath and explains,” Lilith, she knows that Crowley is a rat, and tried to kill him, but he somehow got away. Meg captured Cecily and is torturing her for information on where Crowley ran off to.”

The archangel clasped his wrist in the opposite hand and growls,” Meg? The same black-eyed bitch that made you look like you just faced some deadites?”

“The same,” Sam answers, not even bothering to hide the contempt in his voice, “That’s why we’re going to summon her here and interrogate her about Lilith. She is our only lead so far and may be the only chance we have at ever finding where Raphael has Lilith hidden.”

Gabriel grinned and replies, “You had me at interrogate.”

“Wait,” Castiel interjects with a frown, “What about Crowley? He knows much about our plans, so we can’t risk him being captured by angels nor demons.”

“Cas is right,” Dean agrees, “Maybe we should divide and conquer?”

Argos rolled his chocolate-brown hues before barking. _No one asked you._

“You know, Dean, I think that's a wonderful idea,” Gabriel interjects.

“That should disturb me,” Dean mutters.

“Cas, Dean, and Bobby will go on a hunt for Crowley,” Gabriel starts pointing at the three, “While, Sam, Argos, and I capture and interrogate Meg, so we can find Lilith’s whereabouts. Then we regroup and take down that white-eyed bitch.”

“What about Raphael?” Castiel questions.

Gabriel winks and adds, “It’s not like I haven't trapped and mocked Raphael before.”

That night Sam lays his head down to sleep, Argos curled into his side with his wet nose pressed against his abdomen. The cambion had noticed he’d been getting a little softer down there, but he didn’t think much about it, quickly attributing it to the fact he’d been eating more lately. The corgi snuffled into his thin t-shirt, and he patted his head, rubbing behind his ears. Gabriel and Castiel were at Bobby’s house, assisting the old man in setting up the spell to locate Crowley, so Sam was left alone in the cabin.

After several hours, he finally starts to drift into an uneasy sleep.

“But you’re wrong,” Sam feels Jess stiffen and it almost tears his heart apart, but he keeps going, “People can change. There is reason for hope.” If only Sam really believed that, could really endorse what he was selling. But he had to. He had to believe. He had to make himself believe or all of this was going to be so much harder. He hopes it is enough.

“No, Sam,” Jess’s voice is precise, and her hand is heavy on his shoulder, possessive, yet deceptively light, “There isn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” He hears himself answer.

“Because you freed me,” Lucifer breaks the news gently, as if the moment wasn’t sudden enough, hand pressing tighter around his shoulder, one small intended comfort still gone horribly awry, “That’s right. You know who I am.”

“Lucifer,” Sam answers. Sam sits up with a gasp, startling Argos who jumps up with a yelp. The corgi calms down after a moment, pawing at his master’s chest to try and see what’s the matter. The cambion takes a shaking breath and pats the dog on the head.

“I’m fine, Argos,” Sam says softly, “I just had a bad dream. I-I can’t even remember most of it now.”

Argos barks. _What can you remember?_

The cambion whispers, “Someone touching me with hands cold as ice. But I know who they are, I know,” He shakes his head and continues, “I know whomever it is, better than I know anyone else. And them me.”

Gabriel is slouched over on Bobby’s couch, a giant stack of papers on his lap. He’s combing through them, and he’s on the last few pages. The front reads: Supernatural: It’s the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester! The author is Chuck Shurley.

“What are you reading?” Dean asks through a long yawn.

“Nothing, a friend of mine, he’s an aspiring author that lets me read over his manuscripts. He just finished this one the other night,” Gabriel replies, flipping over another page, “He’s not particularly good at writing, but I’ll never tell him that. He’d probably kill me, if I did.”

He continues reading. ‘Unbeknownst to anyone else in the band of misfits, Sam Winchester was lying in Gabriel’s secluded love cabin dreaming of this other future. The future where the archangel Gabriel had never intervened to help stop the apocalypse; the future that the cambion had no idea existed. That night, he dreamt of another archangel, one that also touched him in ways that –‘

The archangel dropped the page, not even wanting to hear the end of that sentence. Besides, it didn’t even matter, that future was no more; it would never happen. All that mattered was the present, what was happening there and now. The apocalypse would never happen; Sam would keep his soul, his sanity, and his life. And in truth, that was all that mattered to Gabriel.

 

 

 

 

**November 2, 2008**

 

 

 

 

Gabriel struck the match, the flame dancing in his champagne hues, before he throws it into the glimmering bronze bowl at his feet. He casts his gaze down to the heptagram devil’s trap Sam hand painted on their cabin’s wooden floor, sticking his hands rather aggressively into his pockets.

“This is a terrible plan. In fact – it's the worst plan you’ve ever conjured up," The archangel claims, “And looking back at all of the dumb shit you’ve done, that’s saying a hell of a lot.”

"If you've got a better one, I’m all ears,” Sam replied, glaring at his companion’s back, hoping that his incredibly foolish plan wouldn’t go sideways.

The angel exhaled, the tension falling listlessly from his shoulders as he rolled his eyes; he got bored quickly. Gabriel rummages through his pocket before seemingly producing a lollipop the size of his head, which according to all known logic shouldn’t be possible. After just a couple of half-hearted licks he huffs and throws it behind his head, a loud shatter resounding as the sugary sweet meets its end on the head floor. Sam sighs, shooting a bitch-face at his companion.

Gabriel says, “What’s taking that bitch so long? What else does she have to do – it’s not like demons have lives outside of getting summoned and being black-eyed crotch goblins.”

“You wound me, fun-size. I mean I’m not that bad, in fact, I think I’ve been making a real effort to change,” The voice was dripping with sarcasm, one could practically tell the owner was a cold-ass bitch. It made the archangel clench his fists at his side and his jaw tighten. He fixed a menacing glare on Meg who smiled sweetly at him, and said,” I don’t think we’ve exchanged pleasantries before. Have we, handsome?”

Sam frowned deeply and cleared his throat. The demon turned to him, her smile widening as she laughs softly in amusement. “Meg,” The cambion spat, “It hasn’t been near long enough.”

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Meg purrs, licking her lips as she edges as close as the devil’s trap will allow her,” Back from the dead again? You and that brother of yours are like a couple of cockroaches, aren’t you? No matter how many times someone stomps on you two, you won’t stay down, at least not for long.”

Gabriel makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat, and interjects,” Listen bitch – “

“As much as it may seem like it to me, personally, I feel desperately compelled to remind you that we are in fact not in prison,” The demon motions to the room around her, twisting her lips into a half-smile as she growls,” And I am just so not your bitch!”

The archangel snorted, his eyes flashing a dangerous bluish-white, and he states, “I beg to differ, sweetheart.”

Sam rolls his eyes and places a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder; the archangel’s eyes dulled to their normal champagne hue as he takes a deep breath. The cambion takes his own breath, and tries to reason with the demon, “Look, Meg, you and I have been in pretty close quarters before, so I know you’re willing to do just about anything to save your own skin – “

“Close quarters are one word for it. I remember taking the wheel in your meatsuit,” She taps her forehead, voice dropping to a whisper as she turns to archangel, “And I’ll tell you what, Sammy’s one hell of a ride.”

Gabriel’s eyes flashed again, and the room begins to darken as humidity begins to steadily build-up. Sam swears-to-God he can hear thunder rolling in the distance, and Meg seemed to notice this, too, for she quickly shuts her mouth. Not even a demon, or a “black-eyed crotch goblin” was willing to mouth off to an angel, much less an archangel; the most fearsome of Heaven’s weapons.

“Taunting me?” The archangel snarls, his voice chillingly low as he inclines his head to the side. Lightning came like a rip in the inky night, lighting up the room for a split second; the archangel’s wings are azure shadows on the wall,” Oh, just not smart. Even for you.’

Sam can’t choke back his own surprised gasp. He hadn’t seen his companion’s wings since that fateful night in July, the night the archangel had warned him of the impending apocalypse and had started him on the path to become the very monster he seeked to destroy. It had only been a few months, yet it felt like an entire lifetime ago. In a way it was because his life as human, any chance at ever being normal, died in that very instant. When he’d practically begged, “Can you show me another way?”

The cambion swallowed thickly, and continued trying to bait the demon,” Meg, why do you seek to free a being that only seeks to destroy all of us? He will wipe out every speck of life on this planet, and he’s not going to stop will humans. No, as soon as he’s done with us – You’re next on the menu.”

Meg narrows her eyes dangerously, pacing the rim of the devil’s trap as she contended, “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy. We are his children, his spawn that will spread across this little blue planet and devour it whole,” She throws her head back and laughs, “And what’s this ‘we’? You keep referring to yourself and the meat sacks as if you’re one and the same. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, you’re batting for our team now. I wonder when you’ll get your own set of beady, black eyes…”

“You’re right,” Sam admits softly, “I’m not one of them. I’m not human, anymore, but I’m not going to just let them be wiped out like ants under a magnifying glass! Not when I can do something! When I can prevent it! I-It’s not in me.”

The she-demon pushes, “And if you fail?”

“I won’t,” The cambion’s voice is firm as he vows this, and continues, “Look we need – “

“Well, you definitely need something. Um, maybe a backbone, or perhaps some testicles, seeing as you won’t take a couple steps away from your halo-head buddy – “Before the demon could finish her sentence, the archangel entered the devil’s trap, and hoisted her into the air by her throat.

“I think we’re both done even trying to ask,” Gabriel snarls,” The clock is ticking, and we need to know where that white-eyed bitch is, so Sam, do your thing.”

Sam nods and steps into the devil’s trap, thrusting his closed fist into the air as he closes his eyes and furrows his eyebrows in concentration. Meg's whole body jerked up as black smoke plumed from her mouth, shooting up into the air. It raced towards the cambion’s gaping mouth. He snapped his head back as the smoke forced its way down his throat. Both of their bodies sagged lifelessly, but Sam’s fell into Gabriel’s waiting arms, his head lolling over the latter’s shoulder.

Sam blinks. He’s sitting in the impala, riding shotgun per usual, but instead of hearing his brother drum his hands on the steering wheel, or some well over-played music blasting, it’s dead silent. The cambion looks around the car; it appears to be the same car he’s been riding in his entire life, but he knows it’s not because this one is different. The car he was raised in felt like the one permanent home Dean and himself could ever have, but the car he sat in at that very moment felt cold, desolate, like a bird’s nest in winter.

The headlights were on, the engine was purring idly, and Sam swears he can feel the car moving down a road he cannot see. No one is at the wheel, and the headlights illuminate nothing, for even outside of the windows there is nothing to be seen. He’d seen darkness before, the kind that makes desolate woods like an old-fashioned photograph, everything a shade of grey. This isn't like that. This is the darkness that robs one of their best sense and replaces it with a paralyzing fear.

In this foreign car Sam sits, phantom muscles cramped and unable to move. He only knows his eyes are still there because he can feel myself blink, still instinctively moisturizing the organs he has no current control over. It is then that he finally hears a sound, the radio switches on and begins changing channels automatically, random jumbled pieces of songs and bursts of static coming through. He sighs in relief when it finally settles on one channel, and a single voice comes out of it: Gabe.

“Sam,” Gabriel calls out,” I don’t have much time, so listen. You’re in the command deck of your Enterprise, Kirk. No one is controlling your meatsuit, which is why you’re riding shotgun. Meg should be close by, she can’t go rummaging anywhere else in your mind, I made sure of that. Remember, as soon as you get what we need, you need to kill her, or she may try and take the wheel. If she does you may be too weak to fight her off for a little while. Still, she’ll have more than enough time to – Geet w-whhhaat s-sh-she….” His voice broke out and the radio switched off.

Sam tries to move from his seat, but finds he’s secured there by a seatbelt he hadn’t noticed previously. He unbuckles it and begins searching the vehicle, but it wasn’t like the demon had much room to play hide-and-seek. Meg was familiar with his mind, or his “command deck” as the archangel had put it, so she may have learned a few tricks. Everything was the same as it had been during her last possession of the Winchester: minds rarely changed their shape.

Two muscular arms abruptly pulled around him, freezing cold fingers running up unde this shirt to tickle the bare skin as an airy chuckle echoes in the car. A chin perched on the cambion’s shoulder, and he looked up only to see the face that haunted his nightmare the night before not even an inch from his. He tried to get away, scrabbling about uselessly, but there was only the space in the car he was confined in. Suddenly, ice cold lips were against his. It was only a second, less a kiss and more a brush of lips.

“Hey, Sammy,” The man whispers, his hands still exploring under his shirt as his hips began pushing back against his in a slow, steady rhythm, “Remember me?”

“Who are you,” Sam gasps, tense against the body that held him close,” What are you?” Then, the cold was close, next to his ear.

“You know who I am,” The man whispered, his damp, formed tongue running over his earlobe,” Say it.”

“… _Lucifer_ ,” And some part, deep down inside of Sam probably knew he should be afraid. But instead, he was calm as he felt his breath cloud up with the cold.

Lucifer lets out another airy chuckle, now nibbling Sam’s earlobe as he growls, “You’re mine.”

Sam’s chest swelled under the frigid, calloused hand. His heart was pounding so fast. The Devil leaned his head down until his forehead bumped against his quivering neck, whispering words that were only supposed to be thoughts. The cambion looks up just in time to see the demon he’d been searching for setting her hands on the wheel, her lips drawn back into a sneer.

“It sure as hell isn’t Jesus takin’ the wheel,” Meg purrs.

“No,” Sam rasps, pushing against the arms confining him,” Get…off of me!”

Lucifer bites into his neck, his grip tightening as blood splashes over Sam’s lap, running in crimson torrents down his neck. The Devil’s forked tongue laps at it as he says,” You don’t remember me, do you, Sammy? You know my name, but not who belongs to it.”

Meg stared at Sam with a raised eyebrow, before directing her attention back to the nonexistent rose before her. The demon couldn’t see the literal devil on his shoulder. Or in this case, coiled around him like an anaconda. The cambion takes a shaking breath and begins to struggle some more, hissing in pain as the jaw around his neck tightens.

Sam sat up in the devil’s trap, his mouth a thin line as he flexes his fingers and watches his hand in fascination. Gabriel’s eyebrows nearly hit the roof as he spits out a repeated slur of curse words. The cambion’s eyes flashed azure black, signaling he’d lost control to the demon he let inside his head. The archangel quickly grabbed a flask of holy water from the coffee table and splashed it over the demon’s face, flinching when a pained howl left his companion’s lips.

“Shit,” Gabriel grits his teeth,” _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii_ –“

Meg screams as she falls onto her knees, wrenching her fingers through Sam’s hair as she snarls, “I’ll tear him from the inside out. I may not be able to kill him, but I’ll make him wish he was –“She let out a distorted scream as another splash of holy water went over her face, steam riding into the air in thick puffs.

Then Sam holds up a hand, letting out a shaking breath as he shouts, “Don’t! Don’t exorcise her,” He inclines his head to the side, a pained moan escaping his lips, “I got distracted and lost control – Just let me get it back – Aghhhh!”

Sam struggled against Lucifer’s grip, and the pain in his throat dwindled—the obscene sounds from the monster above him faded— His mouth suddenly filled with blood, accompanied with such pain that it snapped him back to his senses. The cambion pushed back up against Lucifer, his hand running along the devil’s parted lips, gasping as he felt the jaw loosen for a split second in surprise. In that very instant he dove forward shoving the demon away from the steering wheel.

Meg let out a strangled noise, falling across the seat as Sam pins her down. The demon opens and closes her eyes, before narrowing them dangerously as she says,” What are you playing at? Why didn’t you just kill me outright? He’ll, why did you even give me a chance to reach your mind – “

“Same as you,” Sam spits out, ignoring the gushes of blood going down his neck as he lazily slaps a hand over it,” When demons share close quarters, they can read the vessel’s mind, look into any part to get what they want. Well, my powers allow me to take in demons, and if I do choose… their memories.”

Before Meg can scream, he presses his hand over her mouth and slams her head against the car door. Her pained groan is muffled against the flesh of his hand as he closes his eyes and concentrates. He roots through her very essence, searching for the right memory, the right thought – If the demon just slipped for one second – Found it.

Sam grins, spitting out another mouthful of blood as he whispers chillingly,” Found it.” His hand pulsates an eerie orange shade as her entire skeleton lights up like an exploding star. Another, much more winded out scream is muffled into the cambion’s hand.

Sam gasps sitting up in the devil’s trap, not surprised to see he’s lying on a puddle of his own blood. Gabriel is on his knees beside him, his jacket in a bundle against Sam’s neck. The cambion chokes violently, his nails racking against the archangel’s wrist as blood foams past his lips. The angel presses two fingers against the latter’s forehead, healing the damage instantly.

Sam sits up after a moment, heavy pants escaping him as he runs his fingers over his neck. He chokes out,” St Mary's Convent. L-L-Lilith is hiding in…” His eyes roll into the back of his head as he falls limp in his companion’s arms.

Gabriel runs his hands over the place where Lucifer had tried to stake his claim, and promised softly, “Sam Winchester isn’t yours, brother. You are not worthy of him. You may have claimed him in one future, but you won’t have him now… never again.”

 

_______

 

 

The rat quivered in the shaded undergrowth of the garden. His dull brown fur helped him to blend in with the dried sticks and autumn leaves. His liquid black eyes were alert and his whiskers twitched. The aroma of two intruders invaded his nostrils, he froze, listening. If the two came closer then it would be a frantic scramble for the gap under the rotting fence, but otherwise he was safer staying silent, motionless, hidden.

“There’s the little shit,” One of them shouts, and the rat bolts.

The rat’s wee feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, the cold evening air shocking his throat and lungs as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall from his pursuer, he bounces a few centimeters into he air before landing back on his feet again. His heart beats frantically, all or nothing. The man chasing him is weighed down with guns, silver-knives and holy water, all of them useless unless he gets a clear shot, which he won't. He can hear the man panting with the effort from mere feet behind, that's how fucking noisy the full creature is.

“Damn it! I told you we should have just taken man’s best friend with us! Ain’t that what they’re breed for?”

A loud, lengthy sigh,” Argos is far too proud a creature to do a task as humiliating as this. And you trying to catch it is getting us nowhere. Allow me.”

Then, a flash of brilliant bluish white light, and the rat is in crushing grip of another man, his second pursuer. The rat, Crowley, groans inwardly as he’s brought squirming and squeaking to the two pursuers’ eye-levels. The King of Hell had actually degraded himself by possessing such a lowly creature to avoid capture, only to be caught by Dean, fucking, Winchester, and his pretty boy sidekick he wasn’t familiar with. Though from the light show he’d just put on, he guessed he was a halo-head.

“Well, look what the cat or Cas brought in. The one that rat away,” Dean grins wolfishly, his voice gruff as he states,” Can you understand him, or do we need to find him a vessel?”

Castiel answers,” I’ll be able to understand him. Ask him anything.”

“Did you rat out on us?” Dean barks, leaning in close to the squirming creature.

The rat squeaked, and clawed at Castiel’s fingers, but the angel didn’t even flinch. “He says,’You slimy git I made a deal with the moose, why in the bloody hell would I-‘ I couldn’t recognize any discernible speech after that,” Castiel translates in his usual monotone voice,”I don’t think he revealed anything vital to our enemies, but even so, we can’t take the chance that he may.”

“Besides, in the other-future that Gabe showed us, this little bastard caused a lot of shit for my brother and I,” Dean snarls,” Do your thing, feathers. I’ve never seen a rat get smitted, smite, smote, smit – Whichever one you prefer.”

Crowley let out a loud, sharp scritch and started struggling harder. The seraph lays the rat flat on his palm, pressing two fingers into its petite spine as he reveals,” You cannot leave the creature you are possessing, abomination. I won’t allow it,” The rat lets out a shrill squeak as it’s beady eyes burn into its skull and its fur begins to blacken and shrivel,” It is finished.”

“Ugh, nothing like the smell of deep fried rat to wake you up in the morning,” The hunter wrinkles his nose in disgust, watching as the angel tossed the dead rodent to the ground,”Bobby is waiting for us back at the house, he’ll be more than happy to find out he made the right call with that spell.”

Castiel nods and shoots a final glance at the blackened rat. “In the future my brother showed us, he was an ally in the beginning, and ended up later ‘causing a lot of shit’ as you put it,” The seraph muses softly,” It’s strange, how our two times are beginning to have some of the same vague occurrences.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters.

 

_______

 

Dean exclaims over the phone, “Damn it, Sammy – What do you mean? No don’t… Okay. Okay… fine.”

Dean Winchester entered the house’s main room, plopping down on the sofa with a sigh. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, arms outstretched. For a moment he held his breath, then exhaled and let his body relax. Weeks of worrying, pointless arguments and ignoring Castiel’s subtle hints that his brother may not be able to find out where Lilith is, all slipped off his shoulders.

“How is he?" Bobby asked, sitting turned sideways to face him.

“Asleep again, I think,” Dean stretched and yawned, “Fighting off Meg long enough to find out where Lilith is, hell, it took a lot out of him. He got his friggin’ neck torn out. Plus, he’s still feelin’ like shit, but the stubborn bastard won’t let Gabe or Cas check him out.”

“But, how is he? Did he say what happened,” The seasoned hunter presses, “I mean he’s fought off a demon’s hold on him before, he does it every time he takes their power, and Meg isn’t anything special. What could’ve happened to throw him off?”

“He's fine, he just lost control. I’m not going to press any further than what he did tell me," The older Winchester shook his head, “All he said was that he was in a bad place. I asked him if he'd been hurt, and he said, 'not for his lack of trying'."

"He didn't say anything else?"

"No,” Dean glanced at him, then at the table. Sam’s duffel was thrown on it carelessly, and it was unzipped. A few crumpled papers peaked from the teeth of the zipper, “What could he have seen?”

Bobby shrugged. He started to answer, then looked back at Dean as he stifled a yawn. He stands up, and states,” Maybe you should get some sleep, too. You've been pushing yourself hard these last few weeks."

"I don’t need it," Dean grunts. He picked up the remote control, not to turn on the television but merely to turn it over in his hands, “With all the shit going on, I sometimes think that I'm already asleep."

“Maybe I should ask if you're okay," The seasoned hunter starts, his voice concerned, “You’ve been kind of...flat, almost. I know we've all been worn pretty thin, especially with everything going on with Sam, but I don’t think we’ve had the chance to address – “

“What? Hell?”

“For starters,” Bobby murmurs, scratching his patchy beard.

Dean shrugs and responds,” In all honesty, I don’t remember anything about Hell. Not a damn thing,” He shakes his head, his hands clenching on the television remote,” I keep going over and over it in my mind, but nothing. It’s like it was wiped clean… Like I was never there.”

“Maybe Cas or Gabe worked some angel mojo?”

“It doesn’t matter,” The hunter states nonchalantly, standing from the couch,”All that matters now, is being ready for when the time comes. Sam got Lilith’s location, and it won’t be long until they notice their favorite bitch is missing and bolt. We’re meeting Gabe and Cas in a few hours to hear the plan.”

“Then?”

“Then we save the world,” Dean glances at the papers peeking through his brother’s duffel again. Out of curiosity he brings one out, and his eyes widen in horror, “Oh - Fuck... Sam, no...”

Dean Winchester was staring at numerous sketches spread before him and occasionally flipping a page in an art book. Bobby knelt in front of him, looking over the sketches. The seasoned hunter spotted himself, angry, accusing, glaring out of darkness at the viewer; his eyes are shaded in messily with thick charcoal pencil. He brought it closer and stared at it for several seconds, seeing himself the way Sam had.

“That’s not the only one of you," Dean said softly, motioning at two others side by side.

Bobby put the first one down and pulled the other two closer. Drawn sitting in front of the television, one leg pulled up with his hand resting on a woman’s knee, he didn't watch the screen as much as he simply stared into space. The woman was his long dead wife - - her face is like that of a specter. The other picture had him sitting alone in a room, he was in a wheelchair, and there were silent tear tracks tracing over his detailed wrinkles.

“Sam’s powers are probably causin’ him to see flashes of that shit you saw,” Bobby states gruffly, shuffling through more papers, “The poor kid is starting to see the other future, the future that he once lived. The past can’t be changed so easily, so I seriously doubt it’ll ever be completely wiped from the books.”

Dean runs a hand over his face and tosses down one of the sketch books. “Does this mean that he’ll eventually remember?”

“Doubtful,” Bobby states bluntly, “It’s likely that he doesn’t even remember anything, aside from brief flashes, now. Though, I do feel some figures from this alternate future do, and always will have an iron-tight grip on him. Whether he knows it or not…” The old man sighs softly, and stands, “From what the halo-head showed you about his pitch-fork bearing older brother, he’s bitter about the bond Lucifer and Sam share as archangel and vessel. Though in this future it will hopefully never be explored, it’s still there whether any of us like it or not.”

Dean looked uncomfortable at that observation, his face looking a little paler. Both had seen every finite detail of the future in store for them if Lucifer was released from his eternal time-out. The hunter found himself struggling to understand some things he’d seen; he would never let his brother sacrifice himself; he would never shove a mangled soul back down his gullet; he would never keep the both hunting when his brother was literally being driven insane – Dean closes his eyes, running a hand over his face. He’d seen every damn thing the devil had done to his brother, yet somehow, in this future, Sam loved Lucifer.

The hunter grumbles something under his breath and begins shoving the various sketches and sketchbooks back into his brother’s bag. “Maybe when all of this is over…” He trails off, unsure of what to say for a moment, before continuing, “Sam can finally just settle down, you know? Have some little tykes, get mortgage, have barbecues – That kind of thing. Though that may be a little difficult considering he’s tethered to a four-foot tall assclown – “

The seasoned hunter rolls his eyes and notes, “Gabriel may not be your…ideal picture of a future for Sam, hell it ain’t mine, but he is good for him. Notice how he is much more relaxed, less weighted around Gabriel,” He continues with a nod, “And it goes both ways. Gabriel has matured a lot because of Sam. He’s taken responsibility and initiative in our little band of misfits. I think, perhaps, they balance each other out. Like predator and prey; beer and peanuts; chili and cornbread – “

“Munchkin and giant,” Dean quips. Bobby scowls but doesn’t disagree.

 

 

 

 

________

 

 

Sam’s hair tossed about as the gentle breeze turned to wind. The afternoons were always cold in Colorado, like it never got the memo that he was cold enough. He hurried his steps, stopping when he was in the middle of an icy field; it was about a fourth of a mile from the actual house. Gabriel was already waiting for him, his face cold as a stone.

The archangel had his fingers splayed in front of him, half a dozen figures, their faces concealed with sacks, on their knees in front of him. Argos is pacing around them, soft whimpers eliciting from him as he spots the cambion. His booted feet crunched loudly on the snow, making the figures start to shift and struggle again. He could practically smell them; sulfur and decaying flesh fouled the air – _Demons_.

Gabriel’s eyes swell with pity for what he was about to ask Sam to do. “Sam,” He starts off softly, “You have to be at optimum power for the fight against of Lilith. I gathered some of the strongest remaining demons for this, so you’ll be taking in some serious mojo – And you’ll be taking in more than you ever have before.”

Sam feels his heart beating away in his chest. “I know,” He responds after a moment, “I-I know, it’s just…” He closed his eyes and took in a shaking breath as he finishes,” If I do this, I will be giving up any chance of ever being…truly good again. Of not being a…” He flinched when he feels a warm hand, a deep contrast to the freezing air, press against the nape of his neck.

“That doesn’t matter,” The archangel states with the gentlest voice,” Sam, you have to make many choices throughout life. Some are especially important choices. Some are quite the opposite. But a sizable number of them are between good and evil. The choices you make, however, determine what you’ll become… It’s your choice, Sam,” He’s gently petting the side of the taller man’s neck, looking deeply into his eyes as he finishes, “You can still be good.”

“Gabriel,” Sam whispers, feeling his cheeks burn,” …When did you change so much? Somehow in the span of a few months you’ve turned into a man that I…” He closed his eyes and presses his hand against the latter’s,” …You’ve changed for the better.”

Gabriel smiles sadly as he responds, “I guess I have. Seeing the things, I’ve seen…It sobered me up really quick.”

Argos wags his tail and barks. _Do you still want me to leave?_ Sam nods and with that the corgi trots back in the direction of the house. _Stay safe._

Sam sighs, but quickly turns silent when his gaze falls on the demons gathered at his feet. He takes a step closer, extending his hand forward. Simultaneously all six of the demons let out pained moans, and their bodies started to thrash violently. He closed his eyes, pushing his palm forward as he inclined his head with it. Dark abysses, twisting, pulsating; a human’s soul long bereft of life. They struggle, push back with all their might, clawing and hissing in their meatsuits.

Sam chokes out, a spurt of blood going down his nose and he pulls harder. He presses his free hand to his face, blocking the influx of crimson liquid that taints to the white snow beneath his feet. Six channels of smoke shot onto the ground, pooling at his feet as they pulsate and warble softly. He makes a beckoning motion to his mouth, and his head snaps back. They all push inside, and the cambion can feel them all struggling in the depths of his meatsuit. He clenches his eyes she and clenches his teeth; his skeleton pulsates a sickly orange six times, each one brighter than the last.

Coldness and pain. Sam’s whole world reduced to just two sensations, the frigid snow beneath his face and the pain radiating through his body. He lay still for a long time, eyes closed. His eyes burned. The cambion held one hand over them as if they might melt in the afternoon light. He heard someone’s footsteps coming closer and backed away, putting his other hand on the ground beneath him in a pathetic attempt to steady himself.

“Hey, hey,” Gabriel’s voice rings out, and he feels his warm hand touching his face again, “Come on, open your eyes… Sam? _Sam!_ ”

Sam opens his eyes and gasps softly. He feels the hand on his face tense as he meets the archangel’s champagne hues. The cambion blinks rapidly, the burning sensation slowly fading, but his vision itself was eerily clear. The entire world radiated in his vision, and he exhales sharply as he fully took in the archangel holding him close. He began to shake in awe of the sight before him.

The wings of the angelic creature arced high above his gracious head of golden hair. The wings were nearly as tall as his body, arcing off his back like a concave reflection. Each long, narrow feather was a metallic copper, each reflecting a slight pink light as they ruffled; they tensed and shook in his mighty glory. This is what the archangel truly was – The most absolute, the most beautiful, of heaven’s weapons.

Gabriel ran a finger down his face, his thumb running under his eye. “Sammy,” He whispers, “Your eyes…they’re yellow.”

Sam’s shaking ceased as if he'd flipped a switch in himself. He raised his head and breathed normally. Gabriel gently helped him up, not able to take his eyes away from his. The cambion blinked, easing a hand towards his sparkling yellow orbs. The archangel took the hand and pulled it away, shaking his head as he presses the knuckle to his lips.

There’s a flutter of wings and suddenly, they’re back in the cabin, laying down on the gigantic leather couch. Sam’s eyes shimmered, yellow and white undulating. He feels wings as too-light, too-sharp feathers brush against him so softly, not cutting skin. Gabriel laughs in amusement, and purposely brushes on of the feathers against his nose making the cambion huff.

“You can see them, huh?” The archangel questions, a brow raised, “That should make things a hell of a lot kinkier next time –“He feels a crushing pressure on his windpipe as the latter narrows his eyes and falls silent. Gabriel got cut off when Sam kissed him. The kiss was deep, and Gabriel was startled, but not surprised.

They break apart for air, panting wetly against each other’s mouths. Sam moves his hands up to tangle with Gabriel’s hair, parting his legs so the archangel can stand in between them, their crotches pressed up against one another with warm, delicious pressure. They kiss again for a few long moments, still languid, and the cambion finds himself enjoying taking things slow and steady. They both jolt when the couch lifts into the air, and slams back down onto the ground again.

“I forgot about that,” Gabriel mumbles against Sam’s lips as he grins, “Let’s see if we can make it happen again…”

“It’ll scratch the floor,” Sam growls, but he doesn’t pull away. The archangel runs his fingers under the cambion’s jeans and boxers and started working at his hole. He snapped the fingers on his free hand, and suddenly, the fingers pumping was coated with a hefty amount of lube. Sam only moaned as Gabriel continued to work him with his skilled fingers.

“Mm. I love hearing you,” Gabriel praised. He grazed Sam’s neck with his teeth and Sam froze up. When the archangel licked at his skin, the latter relaxed, “A full-fledged cambion and an archangel bumping uglies, huh? Talk about peace on Earth.”

“ _Please_...” Sam groaned.

Another flutter of wings interrupts them, and Castiel stands tensely before them. Gabriel let out a slur of curses and pulled out his fingers, sitting up from his position between Sam’s legs. Sam sits up with a pant, his lips pulled into the smallest of smirks. With his disheveled state, and slight smirk, the cambion didn’t look entirely sane. The seraph eyed Sam with worry and great curiosity.

Sam’s pink lips part ever so slightly as he gawks at Castiel. “Cas,” He brought his hand up, extending it toward the space around the angel’s shoulder blades,”I can see them… Your wings.”

The wings of the angel arced high above its gracious head of dark hair. They were made of long, nimble feathers that would make even the mightiest birds of prey turn green with envy. They were whiter than a soft colored cloud on a bleating summers day, so white that a pure glow seemed to emit from them.

”Sam,” Castiel chokes out, his steel-blue eyes wide,”What have you done?”

“I finished what I started,” Sam answered as he stood up all the way,” I’m ready.”

The seraph looks solemn as he nods “I was told by Gabriel to be here, so that I may transport you to where Bobby and Dean are waiting in position,” He trails off, “If you need anything... If anything happens, pray. I'll be there."

"I will,” Sam assures.

"I will be watching,” Castiel states, resolute.

Gabriel’s arm loops around Sam's shoulders. "Hopefully not too closely,” He states as he winks at Sam, “Can you give us a few –“A flutter of wings and he’s gone,”-minutes? Huh, looks like he finally learned to take a hint.”

“Yeah,” Sam whispers, “What did you want to talk about?”

“…Sam,” The archangel starts, his champagne hues softening,” I just want you to know – No, I need you to know what you mean to me. God – I’ve gone over it in my head so many times, one would think the words are seared in my brain, but…” He trails off, his eyes casting on the floor as he takes a shaking breath, “Sam…I love you.”

Sam’s eyes are blown wide as the words leave Gabriel’s lips. After a moment, he grabs his hand. Gabriel starts, surprised and drawn in. Sam kisses him. This was not something that simply snapped, nor was it an abrupt give of a dam, one that slowly wore away with time by pressure. No, this was a smooth thing, a revelation, a descent into acceptance, gliding and sweet and gentle, into this thing that’s somehow been there all along.

“…I love you, too.”

” I know.”

Castiel comes back in at that moment, his steely blue gaze softening at the sight. “Sam,” He presses after a moment, “It’s time.”

Sam nods, and pulls away from Gabriel. Castiel walks over and takes Sam’s hand, his wings fluttering as he flies them away. Alone, Gabriel runs his fingers across his still moist lips as he smiles. He laughs softly, shaking his head, and lets his own wings unfurl.

 

 

 

 

_________

 

 

The plan was simple. Divide and conquer. The two resident angels and the magical corgi were supposed to hold off Raphael and any of his soldiers. The two humans were to get rid of any demons surrounding the convent or guarding Lilith. The cambion was to take on the white eyed demon directly and have her head on a platter swiftly. They could not fail, there would be no second chance, it was now or never.

Bobby and Dean, of course, nearly shit themselves when they saw his gleaming yellow eyes but hadn’t said a word. Gabriel had armed them with angel blades, and Dean still had Ruby’s demon-killing knife, not to mention their usual barrage of holy water and salt rounds. They were ready to hold back any black-eyed crotch goblins that tried to intervene in Lilith and Sam’s final battle. Bobby was already stationed on the other side of the church, Dean was just lingering. Sam was about to leave, also not having spoken a word, when he abruptly turned.

Dean took three strides and grabbed hold of his brother, crushed him close again and wrapped his arms around him. The hunter couldn’t think of a damn thing else to do, couldn’t possibly respond in any other way. And those long, lean arms closed around him in return, as if helpless to the impulse, and his brother dragged him closer. Sam closed his eyes, he felt like a small child again; his big brother holding him in his arms so that he could feel safe, reassured.

“Sam…” Dean’s voice comes out as a choke,” Come on, man…don’t. Just…don’t. Don’t make it seem like this will be the last time. You’re getting out of this intact, and so am I, okay? I’m not losing you again, Sammy.” And with that Sam took his leave.

Lilith was still wearing the same skin. A woman with straw-blond hair in loose curls, an eerily white dress right around her curvaceous body. She grinned when she saw Sam approaching and purred, "You’re here,” She stretched her arms out wide like she was going for an embrace.

Sam kept walking until he was standing directly across from the white-eyed demon. Lilith stood in front of a marble crypt, its lid heavy and ornate, covered in decaying leaves and windswept cobwebs. The cambion stepped close, almost to her face, and let his lips fall into a silent snarl.

“I didn’t think we would be doing this dance for a while,” Lilith says with a smirk, her lips almost grazing his jawline, ”Raphie promised me protection until the time was right, but if I get to knock you down a few pegs…I guess I’ll have some fun.”

“This is your idea of fun?” Sam’s yellow eyes pulsate, and Lilith’s eyes roll to the back of her head revealing her whites in response.

The white eyed demon grins manically as she responds with, “Us demons have a twisted idea of what’s fun I suppose,” She laughs coldly, her breasts bouncing with it, “I guess it’s a family trait.”

But even Lilith could see she was in danger, so she fell silent. They regarded each other silently, two monsters in the dark. And then the demon rushed forward, her steps too quick, her walk bent with hands before herself, eager to devour this little cambion whole. To put him in his place for the time being. In the pitch-black convent, the fight began silently. Neither spoke, neither snarled. Sam simply drove forward, hands outstretched, crashing into his enemy before she could fully see it.

 

_______

 

The angel blade is still imbedded in Castiel’s stomach. As Gabriel finally pulled it out, it came as a red fountain to spread over the already wet mud, every projection showing the struggling of the seraph’s heart. He raised his already blanched hand to his neck before falling to his knees, eyes wide. Before the archangel could catch him, he was slumped to the ground, pulse thready and weakening.

“Cassie,” Gabriel exclaims, ignoring the distant yells from their brethren,” Cassie, hey, come on. You were barely nicked, don’t be so damn dramatic – _Castiel!_ ”

“Gabriel…I’m glad that I found you…” Castiel starts, blood dribbling down his chin,” I’m glad I got to fight beside you one…last time… Please, protect the future… Don’t let L-Lucifer….”

 

 

 

Castiel was wheezing now, his grace starting to fade as he slouched in Gabriel’s arms. The two of them could only hold off the overwhelming numbers so long. The archangel had shakily carved sigils on the threes around them, trying to hold off the horde if possible. Argos was panting heavily, blood calling his fur as he lays down on Castiel’s lap. The corgi gently licked the seraph’s palm.

Raphael was going to win. That was the only thought racing across Gabriel’s frantic mind. Raphael had easily overwhelmed him with his numbers in a matter of minutes, and the younger and weaker archangel simplify wasn’t strong enough to fight him toe-to-toe. Castiel was starting to slouch in his arms, his weening grace a full light, his charcoal black wings starting to slouch. Argos whimpered, pawing at his legs, and licking his palms once more.

“Cas?” Gabriel questions softly. He slowly, hesitantly presses two fingers to Castiel’s gaping wound, a bluish glow emanating from it.

Argos barked in alarm. _Fool! If you waste your grace now, you will not be able to hold back Raphael when he breaks through the sigils._

Gabriel laughs, and runs his fingers through the corgi’s fur as he chokes out, “I know little buddy, but I-I can’t let him die… He’s my baby brother, I love him,” He laughed again, sniffling softly, “Second time I’ve said that today.”

Argos whimpers. _You can understand me?_

“You’re a magical corgi, right?” The archangel questions, slumping against the tree, running his fingers through the unconscious seraph’s feathers,”I thought you’d know about these kinds of things. S-Sam and I w-we finally admitted that we felt something...That we love each other...I guess since I’m sorta bonded to him now, I can hear you, too?”

Argos sniffs, and nudges him. _Then you heard what I said... You have to be able to hold back Raphael._

“I know,” Gabriel says softly, his champagne hues glittering with unsheathe tears, “And I am. You’re going to get Castiel out of here, while I take care of my jack-ass brother.”

The corgi whimpers again, shaking his head. _No. Sam would never forgive me –_

“If you don’t, Sam will be forced into a future that was never meant to be,” Gabriel snarls, close to tears as he continues smoothing down the rumpled feathers,” Argos, if you love you master…you won’t do this to him. You’ll take Castiel, and get out of here… Please.”

Argos bows his head. _Good-bye, Gabriel._

“W-wait…Tell Sam,” Gabriel gasps as the sigils glow brightly, signaling that they’re about to break, “Tell Sam that everything he needs to know is in a box under our bed. And tell him…Tell him that I’ve always loved him, even if I didn’t say it damn near enough. Can you tell him that, little buddy?”

Argos nods and bites down gently on Castiel’s trench-coat. They both glow brightly and disappear. Gabriel sits up, taking his archangel blade from his side pocket, he then shakes off his jacket, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. He drags the blade across his bare stomach, tracing a specific sigil into his skin. An energy focusing sigil is painted in scars on his skin, light trails of blood going down in rivulets.

“Sam,” Gabriel whispers, and he repeats the name like a mantra, “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam…”

The sigils drawn on the trees break, and Raphael along with nearly two dozen angels rush through like a tidal wave. The older archangel soaked in the sight, and his eyes widened, a silent scream escaping his lips. Gabriel held the blade in the air, preparing to bring it down agains the sigil as a single tear cascaded down his cheek. A pillar of light erupts from the archangel with volcanic force, and everything within radius was decimated immediately.

_“OL AZIAZOR ELASA,” Gabriel whispers, his palm cupping Sam’s cheek._

_Sam’s face reddened significantly, he knew the language the seraph uttered almost better than his native human tongue. Enochian was the language that originated from angels. Aside from its use for communication, the language was used for various spell-work and rituals. Despite his role on Team Free Will as the guy who researched everything, this was not how he learned it. For quite some time, it was the only tongue he knew; this was all that was spoken in the Cage._

_Sam finally manages to gasp out, “But why would you want something that is broken?”_

_“Even something really beautiful can be broken sometimes,” Gabriel says,”But you don’t have to worry. I’m going to fix this - I’m going to save you, Sammy, so that you never, ever have to suffer through the things you have. I’m going to change the ending.”_

_Sam shakes his head, not comprehending. Something broken could never be beautiful, much less himself. The fact that an angel could think something like that, speak it out loud for him to hear, it was too much. The human could only understand the fact that he was broken; nothing more. Not beautiful, not strong –_

_“I love you, Sam Winchester.”_

And just like that, it was over. At the cost of everything.

 

________

 

Sam narrowly dodged one of Lilith’s blasts of white light. He recovered and quickly dashed forward again, aiming low, catching her legs against his shoulder. Lilith toppled over him, and he realized his mistake as she digs her teeth into his shin, catching him and holding tight as she bit down on his ankle. Bone crunched between her pearly whites, wrenched free only with a pained cry as the cambion threw himself to one side, scrambling to send a vicious kick to her head.

Something cracked underfoot as he pulled away, stumbling back to his feet, not even flinching as he stood back on his broken leg. Pain was a human sensation, he smiled grimly, glaring at the demon in front of him. She struggled to push herself up, one hand against her head where her skull had broken. A mule-kick like that would have killed a normal fighter. As it was, the demon hissed angrily and used the wall to steady herself, finally rising again.

The cambion chuckled darkly,” Never fought someone like me, huh?" He was about to taunt once more when he felt it. He doesn’t recall how he knew, but in that instant, he felt a sick lurch as he felt something inside of him severed. It felt as if his very soul had been hacked into bits; like it had been frozen then burned, then frozen over once more; like everything that he loved or could ever love withered away in that instant - _Gabriel._

Sam couldn't breathe. He tried to gasp, to scream, make a sound, anything. Instead he trembled and fell to his knees, unable to look away. God no, not possible, he can't be, no no no no no- He finally found his voice and screamed, throwing his hands into the sky as power pulsates from within. His glowing yellow eyes darted around, looking for a safe outlet, a spot to dispose of the power.

Lilith stood, smirking, backed up against the wall. Claret was starting to form a crust in her hair and she was swaying ever so slightly, but she was annoyingly still alive. Sam extended his hand towards her, not even bothering to stand up as he feels up inside her meatsuit and snapped his fingers. Lilith didn’t even have time to let out a final scream as her meatsuit imploded in on itself with a series of flashing white lights.

Sam bows his head, and clenches his eyes shut, praying to his archangel. He whispered the soft, broken name, so much emotion packed into one word, one well-worn syllable, as if they carried all the world in their utterance,” Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.” When there is no answer he screams again. Again. Again. Again.

 

 

 

 

**November 2, 2008**

 

 

 

 

Without a second thought about Bobby or Dean, Sam Winchester stole a car and drove like the devil was on his tail. Twice the speed limit down country lanes, only just cautious enough to avoid an accident or being pulled over and avoiding sleeping towns where he could. His stolen car only needing to be refueled once just before he reached Colorado where he changed out of his blood-stained clothes and threw out all his personal belongings; his phone, his ID’s except one, and the stolen credit cards. He felt strangely calm. He’d say he was in shock, but he had nothing to be in shock about; Gabriel had faked his death before.

When he reached his and Gabriel’s secluded cabin, he immediately felt the angelic presence inside. He about damn near sprinted through the snow, and nearly broke the door trying to open it, only to lay his eyes on a seraph rather than an archangel. Castiel was standing in the middle of the living room, steadily melting flakes of snow still in his dark, messy hair. His dry lips are a thin line as usual, but his usually hardened, icy blue stare is soft as if he had something to mourn. Argos is by his feet, his ears flat on the top of his head as gentle whines escape his throat.

“No,” Sam utters, shaking his head as he grits his teeth, “Don’t – Don’t look at me like that. L-like he’s really…gone. He’s not – You don’t understand he can’t – “

Castiel inclines his head as he whispers, “Sam, Gabriel is gone. He sacrificed himself – “The angel swallows thickly as he confesses, “For me, he sacrificed himself for me so that I may live. Sam, I didn’t want him to – I was ready to lay down my life on the battle field. I was ready to go, but he – “Sam grabs his trench coat’s collar and slams the seraph against the wall, his yellow eyes blazing as his lips curl into a silent snarl.

”Don’t speak of him as if you have something to mourn,” The cambion shouts, shaking the seraph violently with each word, “As if you could ever understand… You’re the reason he’s dead. You’re the reason – “

Sam stumbles backwards, his grip on Castiel’s trench coat shaking uncontrollably. The seraph surges forward with him, gripping the cambion’s hands in his to keep him steady. Abruptly Sam’s face fell forward, and he vomited onto the angel’s shoes, and heaved violently afterwards. He coughed, attempting to wipe some of the bile from the corner of his mouth.

Argos whimpers. _Sam, please, you’re only hurting yourself more! And bringing your friend down with you!_

Castiel gently pulls Sam in his arms, feeling his head loll against his shoulder as he adjusted his grip around him. The seraph helps him sit down on the couch and silently takes a seat in the chair across from. The cambion looks up after a moment, his lips still damp with spit and his body trembling. The seraph doesn’t dare to meet his gaze, he can’t bear facing what his own survival had done to him.

Argos growls now, his chocolate brown hues cold. _Sam, I was there, I chose to let Gabriel go through with it. If you are to blame anyone, let it be me, but leave Castiel be! The corgi’s ears flatten as he continues. Remember, you may have lost a lover, but he lost a brother._

_Sam had returned to the big leather couch next to Gabriel and was leaning against him lightly. Before he knew what, he was doing, the archangel had wrapped an arm around the cambion’s far broader shoulders to pull him closer. Instead, the bigger man took that as invitation to flop down on top of him, snuggling his face into the latter’s shirt as he slid further down till he was practically lying in his lap. He yawned, then kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the cushions, curling into a ball with his head pillowed on the smaller man’s thighs._

_Gabriel frowned at him, not quite knowing how he should react. “What are you doing? Shit – Have you been drinking?” He asked quietly, noticing how Sam’s lips quirked up into a small smile, I knew it. You’re only warm and fuzzy when you’ve downed a few bottles.”_

_"You're just so nice and warm…" Mumbled Sam, voice softly clouded and sleep-laced. Gabriel scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, his ears turning pink._

_“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to drink anymore. Hell, where did you even get some booze?”_

_Sam smiles, peeking open an eye lazily as he says, “You didn’t pat me down. You should do that next time... Besides temperance is rather tedious, don’t you think?”_

At that Sam’s eyes soften, and he bows his head. He closes his eyes, and breathes in, breathes out. In, out. In, out. He has to calm his mind. He can’t let the grief overwhelm him, not with the damage he can cause to those around him. To his friends; the previous few he’s willing to allow close to him. If he loses anything else, he may just look for the solution in a bottle again.

“Cas look at me,” Sam says softly. Castiel hesitantly meets his gaze and Sam continues, “I shouldn’t have said that. Gabriel’s death is not on you. He died saving your life. It was his choice. No-one forced him to do it. No-one could ever make that stubborn bastard do anything…”

“You’re wrong,” Castiel whispers, “My brother’s death is on me. Had I not… Had I – “

Sam exclaims,” Damn it, Cas! It wasn’t your fault. Please, please see that…”

The cambion closes his eyes for a brief second, before standing up, and walking over to the seraph. Sam presses his hand against Castiel’s much smaller hand pressed on the chair’s side. He stares deeply into those deep blue hues, seeing the self-loathing, the guilt that resided. The angel’s lips part in surprise, and after a moment, hesitantly, he upturns his hand and holds the cambion’s.

Sam speaks gently, “There’s nothing either of us could have done. I wish there was, but there wasn’t, Cas,” He gives the hand in his own a gentle squeeze, “No amount of blame will change that. I’m sorry for ever trying to place it on you, I had no right. I just – I just…”

Once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. Sam bent forward where he sat on the floor, his hand still tightly clasped in Castiel’s. And after a moment he began crying softly, his entire body quivering as he tried to shy away from the angel’s view. He feels the corgi jump into his lap, and lap at his tears with his tongue. The seraph stays silent, in shock, unsure of what to do.

Sam Winchester didn't want anything. He sat there, gripping the angel’s hand like a lifeline, and tried to remember what it meant to be alive. What it meant to breath, to blink, to act and yet nothing came to mind. It seemed like the only thing he could do right then…was hurt. His physical injuries were almost nonexistent; a dull throb. But in his mind, nothing, not a damn thing, could compare to the emotional turmoil he was suffering.

Gabriel’s story wasn't meant to end like this. He saved the fucking world. He had tried to change; he became generous and selfless and kind. His story was never supposed to end; he was supposed to be forever. The unfairness of it all was so unimaginable, so bitterly purposeless that the cambion almost couldn't believe that… that this was real, that this was happening. The cruelty, the death, and the pain; everything was so tragically arbitrary.

What was the point? Where was Gabriel’s justice? Where was his retribution for all those years of pain; for having to abandon his own family? Why was Sam left here, alone and afraid? There were questions, so many questions floating around through his head and nothing but silence answered them… But hanging in that empty air was an answer in itself. Sam Winchester finally understood that there were no fucking answers.

There was no justice, there was no – no powerful force out there watching over them. God had left them a long damn time ago — he couldn’t give a flying royal shit about his own son — there was nothing. Only death. The only thing that was assured; the only thing that would bind them all together in one final act of inevitability. To Sam, it isn’t fair. Nor is it right. But it’s his cold, harsh reality.

“I just wanted to see if it could have happened,” Sam finally utters,”I wanted to see if maybe he wasn’t just rambling on and on about how we could have a future together. I mean, he used to say that when everything was over, we were going to… try. To try and be something more, and now…”

“Sam,” Castiel chokes out.

_“You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend, hell, to anything in a while, Sammy. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”_

Sam heard the angel’s voice as if from far away, underwater. He couldn't breathe. Gabriel’s words ran through his mind over and over, and he couldn't find an escape. His brother was mortal. His father figure was mortal. Everyone he could ever care about was either dead or bound to be dead.

They would die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Before, the thought haunted him, but he was content at the fact he would have at least one person to share it with. Gabriel; the man he loved. He had foolish dreams of them standing at the edge of the world, still holding hands as everything fell down. Of being together even in the empty.

Now those dreams were nightmares.

 

 

 

 

Alone.

 

 

 

 

Going mad.

 

 

 

 

Slaughtering.

 

 

 

 

_Alone._

In his mind, the yellow-eyed demon that had haunted their family for decades was himself. He would linger forever, the new foggy yellow gaze in the night – he wondered if he could find the colt. Perhaps a couple rounds to the temple would do him in, then again with his all-around shitty luck he’d be one of the five creatures that couldn’t be done in by “the gun that could kill everything, except what needs to be killed” as he liked to call it.

 _Sam._ Argos states softly. _Gabriel, he… he left something for you in a box… the box that is under your bed. And he wanted you to know…_ The dog’s ears press down again, and he whimpers _. That he loves you…_

Sam Winchester was convinced that November 2nd would forever be a cursed date in the Winchester family. He’d lost his mother that day, only to lose his girlfriend on the anniversary years later, and now the man he loved was claimed by the curse… Never before had he craved death so much. Never before had he yearned for the sweet release to the point of madness.

Sam fell to his knees at the bedside and slid his hands underneath, pulling out a large wooden box. He runs his fingers down the side, before lifting the top off. Books. Dozens upon dozens of books. One top of the pile there’s a hand-written note. He lifts it up and holds it closer for inspection.

 

 

 

 

Sam,

 

 

 

 

If you’ve found this note I will be dead, and the apocalypse has been averted. That means that everything his gone according to plan; my plan. You see, Sam, I haven’t changed. I’m still the same greedy bastard I was the day we meet – The same that I’ve always been. This time, I was just greedy for someone else… you. I lied to you, Sammy, I’ve been lying since the beginning. The reason I knew about the apocalypse, is because I’ve lived it. In the end, I survived, but you didn’t… not in the ways that counted.

 

 

 

 

Sammy, in my future, in my time, I didn’t have a full grasp on my feeling for you. I think in my own sick, twisted way... I felt something for you because you’re special, the one human I could ever feel a damn thing for. I just didn’t realize it until you were already gone. Long story, short – I didn’t like the way that things ended then, so I turned back the clock because I wanted to change the ending to my liking. All the smaller details will be explained in the books in the box, they’re from my original time. I turned you into something that you’re not, took away you’re humanity because I was afraid to lose you again. As a cambion you had the power to kill Lilith and avert the apocalypse, but you were burdened with immortality… just as I had planned.

 

 

 

 

Everything that’s happened, it has all been because of me. I couldn’t give a flying royal shit about any other human, just you – You’re all that mattered. As long as you lived in the end, anyone else, even me, didn’t matter. Just you. The one thing that wasn’t planned was the child that you’re carrying now. I didn’t think about it at first, the sickness, the loss of appetite, even the subtle softness in your abdomen. Not until I laid beside you one night and I felt him. Oops, spoilers. Well, yeah, it’s a boy! I could just grab a new piece of paper, so I don’t spoil it, but that would take too much effort.

 

 

 

 

He’s a hybrid; a perfect mixture of both of us. He’ll be something new, something no one else has seen before, but as far as I can tell he grows at the same rate as a human child. Though male pregnancies are rare, they are there, so do me a favor. Go find a nice doctor, take care of yourself, and take care of our kid. Since I won’t be there to protect him, I need you to, Sammy. Just don’t forget, there are still people with you that care about you – Hell, one of Cassie’s biggest jobs in Heaven was caring for fledglings, so he’ll make an awesome babysitter. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do. One last thing, I’m not going to ask you to forgive me. I don’t regret what I did. That’s a plan and simple fact. You lived, we’re having a son, that’s all that matters to me. And maybe, just maybe, one day… you’ll join me in The Empty.

 

 

 

 

-Gabriel

 

 

 

 

Sam didn’t even notice when Castiel came in the room with Argos at his feet. He didn’t blink. He couldn’t comprehend anything as the seraph skimmed his eyes over the letter. The cambion just fell into the angel’s arms, when he was pulled into them. He cried into his chest unceasingly, hands clutching at his trench coat. He held him in silence, rocking him slowly as his tears soaked his chest.

A tiny lapse let him pull away, blinking lashes heavy with tears, before he collapsed again, his howls of misery worsening. The pain must have come in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, before hurling him back into the outstretched arms of his grief.

Argos barks. _Oh, Sam._ He settles against his master’s side, a comforting presence.

“I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Cas,” Sam chokes out. Castiel is still awkwardly sort-of-hugging him, stiff as a board, looking at Sam with that odd little smile, “You can stop hugging me now. I’m fine… I just. God, I’m –“

“Pregnant,” Castiel says,” From what I’ve gathered on human customs, it’s customary to congratulate an expectant parent.”

Usually, Sam has a better grip on his emotions – Hormones.

Pregnant. 

 

 

 

 

He was pregnant with Gabriel’s child. A bouncing little boy. At that thought he allowed his crying to cease, he splayed his fingers over his stomach. Castiel trailed his eyes to Sam’s fingers and his lips stayed perked ever so slightly into that maybe-smile. It was a pained smile; one hiding a wealth of pain, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

**November 5, 2008**

 

 

 

 

True to Gabriel’s word, Castiel stays with him, adamantly refusing to leave. Sam stays in a rut for three damn days, until the seraph decides he needs to put his mourning on hold. He was pregnant, but he didn’t even have a plan, hell, he hadn’t even seen a doctor yet. Luckily, he’d learned to control the yellow filter over his eyes; that’d be a hard one to explain to the male-pregnancy doctor they were about to see. All he knew was that Gabriel managed to knock him up with a little boy, and it was his job to take care of it. Now, no matter how much he wanted to roll over and die, he couldn’t because now he had someone depending on him.

Sam and sighed, flipping another page in the book he was reading. Supernatural: When the Levee Breaks because he had nothing better to do in the waiting room. He’d been trying to get through all the books as soon as possible, so he could at least have an inkling about what had happened in the other time… the one Gabriel lived through. It was weird, finding out that there was a prophet it there somewhere, authoring books about he and Dean. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if new books, books about this new time, started popping up in bookstores.

“Sam,” Castiel states, “Your brother, Dean, he’s been praying to me for several days now. I’ve filled him in on all that’s happened, excluding your pregnancy. I thought it would be best if you told him.”

Sam sighs, and runs a hand over his face as he responds, “I-I don’t think I will, Cas,” At the seraph’s look of surprise, he explains in a soft voice,” Right now, I just… I think that I need some time apart from them. From everyone, so that I can stop my head together, figure what I’m going to do about – Well, everything.”

“…I understand,” Castiel states, “You need time.”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, okay?” Sam asks quietly,” Especially not Dean. I need to do it myself.”

“Of course not, Sam,” Castiel assures, “It is not my place. Unbelievably, I am fully capable of keeping secrets.”

The cambion huffs and lays back in his chair, “I know, Cas.”

“Sam, do you remember the first time I met you?” Castiel asks, snapping Sam from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “On the beach in Aruba.”

“When I first held your hand in my own, I could feel the demon blood pumping through your veins, and I thought then that nothing good would ever come of you. But Gabriel wouldn’t let me even think it for a single second,” Castiel goes on to say, “Sam, you are the best of us, despite everything you’ve been through. I don't know how you do it, and I don't need to. That you can, and so effortlessly, is enough.”

“What are you trying to say?”

The seraph states, “You’re going to be a great father.”

A nurse takes all of Sam’s vitals and compliments on what a cute couple Sam and Castiel made. “Tall and short couples always make me giggle, especially when the tall one is the one that’s… you know.” Sam laughs and tells her that the seraph is just a friend, while the poor angel stands beside him with an extremely uncomfortable look on his face. She asks him when his last appointment was, and he tells her that he’d just found out he was pregnant. After she finished taking down all the information needed, she smiles and steps outside to get the doctor. Seconds later a middle-aged man steps in, her nose practically glued to the clipboard the nurse had been carrying.

“So, what brings you in here Mister… Wesson?”

“I-I’m pre-pregnant,” Sam mumbles awkwardly.

The doctor looks up from the clipboard one eyebrow raised. “Pardon?”

“I think I’m pregnant,” Sam says, a little louder. “I took one of those drug-store tests, and... yeah, you know.”

The doctor asks about the symptoms he’s been having, and then has him lie back on the examination table as he snaps on a pair of plastic gloves. Though it’s thankfully a quick examination, it’s still horribly awkward as he palpates his bared belly and makes humming noises before taking his temperature, listening to his heart, peering in his ears, all that stupid shit.

The doctor ties a tube above Sam’s wrist making his superficial veins show. Then he cleans the area with a spirit swab. Carefully after inserting the needle, the doctor withdraws a small amount of blood from the suitable vein. Then he asked Sam to press a cotton plug at the puncture point. Castiel watched the entire process with fascination, before turning to the cambion.

The seraph whispers in his ear, “You know that are pregnant. Why are you being tested?”

“Cas, I know that I’m pregnant, but I don’t know how far along I am. Plus, the doctor can help me set up a plan.”

The doctor sends him on his way with about a dozen pamphlets, a vial-worth less of blood, and a throbbing headache. A day later he got a call with a confirmation of his pregnancy, as of he needed it, but he also learned that he was about three months along. The next appointment his due date was calculated to be April 5, 2009 and was reassured with a laugh that he’d start showing very soon. Castiel still hadn’t left his side, and even went to every appointment with him.

“Well, Gabriel had a lot of money put away, like a lot,” Sam says shuffling through some papers, “These aren’t official documents by the way. They’re treasure maps drawn in purple crayon on where to find little plots of buried gold, but if we can find it all… I won’t have to work a day in my life. Of course, I still will because I need something to keep me busy. I’ll go stir crazy – “

Castiel gently takes the map, and points out, “You shouldn’t be straining yourself in any way, it’s bad for the baby.”

“Cas, look, you don’t have to – “

The seraph holds up a hand and gently interjects, “Sam, I know that we don’t know each other very well. Even when my brother was still alive, we didn’t try to do so,” He sighs softly, and sets a hand on the cambion’s, “But, I still want to be here for you because my brother did love you. That I know for fact, and the child that you are carrying is his son, therefore my nephew. I will stay by your side Sam, through everything that you may go through. And afterward, if you still don’t wish me to stay than I shall go. Even then, you’ll never be alone because I will always be just a prayer away.”

“Prayers are overrated,” Someone snorts. Sam spins around only to be face-to-face with Crowley. A short woman with springy brown curls is standing beside him, most of her face hidden behind a gigantic fruit basket. “I believe congratulations are in order?”

Castiel starts, his eyes wide. “Crowley! How are you alive,” The seraph says as he brings a protective a hand to the cambion’s shoulder, bringing him close to his side. The cambion sighs at the protective gesture and gently shoves him off.

The demon rolled his eyes, and answered, “Please, Cassie, I know how to smoke out of a vessel. I did so before you smote the vermin I was possessing,” He huffs and takes a seat,” That crazy demon-bitch, Meg was about to serve my head on a platter for Lilith, so I had to go into hiding. Rather than just ask me, you two brutes chose to try and kill me! Meg almost killed Cecily, but luckily she also smoked out in time.” He motions to the woman next to him.

Cecily sets down the fruit basket, and quickly turns on her heel, wrapping her arms tight around Sam’s torso. Her free hands grip his ass tightly as she sighs, “It’s a shame you’re about to lose that perky little ass. Pregnancy tends to do that to people!”

Crowley sighs, “I’m surprised you tried to hide your...condition from your fellow flannel-cladded knobs.”

“I wasn’t hiding it from them. Honestly, I didn’t know for certain until yesterday, which I think we can agree was bad timing,” Sam says earnestly. Crowley does not agree, judging from the twitch of his eyebrow and the smirk he wears.

“Wait, so you didn’t know, but now that you do know, you still haven’t told those two lazy sods?” Crowley questions, “Even though, the little parasite is probably only going to be wiggling in there for a few more months.”

“At any rate, the doctor thinks I’m about three months along, so I don’t imagine I’ll be feeling the baby move for a while yet,” Sam says, “Wait, how did you - How do you anything about, any of this?” He sputters, running a tired hand over his face.

“Gabriel told me,” Crowley snorts, “Obviously.”

The cambion flinched at the name, but asks, “Everything?”

“Everything, darling,” The demon responds, placing his hands in his pockets, “About this other future he lived, the real reason he wanted to stop the bloody apocalypse, even about the little bugger in your torso... How do you think I’ve been so helpful?”

Sam defensively puts a hand over his still flat belly as he sighs,” Helpful? You’ve done a couple of things - “

“Don’t you think it’s a little convenient that not a single damn demon tried to intervene while you were protecting seals,” Crowley spun a finger towards himself as he barks, “Me! I’ve been campaigning downstairs for a long time. Hell, I even managed to turn a respectable number of those bloody morons to my side.”

Cecily smirks, and purrs, “Which is why you’re looking at the soon to be King of Hell.”

 

______

 

 

 

 

Chuck Shurley types away at his computer, sipping his drink.

 

 

 

 

Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There's always gonna be holes. And since it's the ending, it's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass. Except, this isn’t the end, is it? No, there is a story to be told still. Plot holes to fill. Characters to develop. Maybe even characters to bring back?

 

 

 

He grins and clicks ‘save’.


	3. Sequel in the Works

Hey, guys! I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback from this story, which is making me really happy! And now I’ve started writing the first chapter of the sequel. I’m hoping to have the first chapter finished and published by next month, but I can’t promise anything. If you guys have any ideas or throughts for what you’ll like to see in the sequel, please comment! It’s still pretty fresh in the early stages of writing so I can include some of your ideas ;) I love you guys, and thank you so much for your support! 


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